


I Hope We Make It (To The Other Side)

by Thee_Maxwell



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bad Parenting, Bisexual Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms), Child Neglect, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Moving, Reggie has ADHD it's just not explicitly stated, Reggie has perfect pitch, Sensory Overload, Smoking, Underage Smoking, music lesson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thee_Maxwell/pseuds/Thee_Maxwell
Summary: “Hey, Momma? Are we going on vacation?”She turned around, looking horrified at the realization that she didn’t know how long he was standing there for.OrReggie isn't quirky, he just has trauma.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning Ch 1: Yelling/Arguing, child neglect, swearing
> 
> All I want to say is that this was intended to be a fairly short one-shot which has um, clearly evolved past that. I started this probably two months ago, when, on a rewatch, I felt the urge to explain what Reggie's little quirks and comments had behind them (specifically when he's trying to defend Carlos' honor in episode 7). 
> 
> I don't even have half of the story written yet, because I naturally write slow and I've had college kicking my ass for the past month, but finals are almost done, and I have enough written to give me time to write some more. I plan on updating (hopefully) weekly, but we will see. I also have the rest of the chapters planned, just not written.
> 
> I'm going to update the tags as I add chapters because honestly, I don't know what all of the future chapters will hold. I'm also going to put a trigger warning in front of the chapters, just in case something might happen.
> 
> This won't be a super cute story, however, it won't be incredibly depressing either. There's some fluff to it, I promise.

The first time Reggie remembered it happening was when he was around three years old. He had drawn a horse in a field, on his own, without anything to look at, and he thought it looked excellent. So he went down the stairs and through the hallway to his parents’ bedroom to show them.

As he walked closer, the voices got louder and clearer. He didn’t quite understand what they were talking about; he thinks he heard the word bills? And maybe something about work? His dad might have had a work friend named Bill.

Once he got to the master bedroom, Reggie knocked gently on the door before opening it. His parents kept talking, seemingly not hearing him. 

"-doesn’t matter if the company wants to move you over there; we don’t have the money to be able to afford a house in California! Even if we did, what’s to say that I even find a job out there? My job doesn’t have a branch out there, and I highly doubt there-”

“Well, we don’t really have much of a choice unless you want me out of a job, and considering I’m the one who makes most of the money, I don’t think that’s a great idea!” They continued bickering about stuff while Reggie just stood there before quietly saying, “Hey, Momma? Are we going on vacation?” 

She turned around, looking horrified at the realization that she didn’t know how long he was standing there for. Kneeling down to his height, she responds, “no, um, we might be moving out to California, for Daddy’s work.”

“Wow, California’s really far. I learned about it in class a few days ago.” He beamed, looking proud of himself for being able to say a large word. “Oh yeah? Then you know it will be a new adventure for you.” Reggie’s mom glanced at his dad, who just rolled his eyes, and waved his hand. She glanced at the child again, noticing the paper in his hand.

“Sweetie, what is this?” she reached out for it, waiting to be handed the drawing. “It’s a horse, like the ones in the field at auntie’s house.” The drawing itself was a brown box with some scribbled lines coming out from it, and a peanut-shaped blob for its head, with some green scribbles behind it, but Reggie was very clearly proud of what he had done. “Robert, would you look at this?”

He rolled his eyes again, glanced at the paper without getting any closer, and spat out, “That’s great, Reginald. Mary,” he sighed, grabbing her shoulder, and gestured his head to the back of the room. “Can we…?” 

Mary sighed and stood up again, rubbing Reggie’s hair. “Why don’t you go find your brother and show him?” She gave a forced smile and nodded for him to head out before turning back to her husband.

They ended up moving a month later to some small town in Northern California. It was quiet, but cozy, and not too far off from the feeling of his Texas town. Granted, it was a little colder and a little busier, but it wasn’t an overly dramatic change for the young boy.

It was here that Reggie started school.

Reggie didn’t like school. 

Always an energetic child, having to sit and focus in a room (with a bunch of other kids!!) was not his ideal situation. But he did it.

He didn’t make friends that first year, mostly because he was new and all the kids in his class already knew each other. But that was fine. His teacher, Mr. Greene, was exceptionally polite and helped him with his energy. He listened to Reggie. All of his passions that a five-year-old could have, such as singing to the radio and riding the horses his family had owned. 

The next few teachers he had didn’t quite provide the same support, but Mr. Greene was always around the school, so if Reggie were ever left at school for a little too long without being picked up, he would always go find his favorite teacher and talk to him. 

One of these times, he was eight, in third grade, and Reggie had knocked quietly on Mr. Greene’s door. It was late, later than usual for his parents, and he wasn’t sure if the teacher would even be there anymore. But he heard a faint strumming which stopped abruptly, so there was definitely someone inside. 

The door creaked open, and Reggie was greeted with a warm but confused face. “Reg? School ended two hours ago. Why haven’t your parents come by?” He gestured for Reggie to come into the room. The boy just shrugged as he entered, still smiling.

“I don’t know, sometimes they just get really into talking and will just forget to pick me up. You play guitar?” Mr. Greene ushered Reggie to sit at the table he had for his class, which, granted, was a little small for Reggie, but it still worked. 

“Yeah, every now and then. You want me to show you after I call your parents?” He put the guitar out on the table, trusting the kid to be gentle if he touched it. Reggie nodded and reached out for the neck of the instrument. “If you want, you can strum the strings a little bit. Just don’t be too aggressive. I’ll be right back.”

Mr. Greene walked into the little office built into his room and closed the door. He could hear Reggie outside, so he knew that the kid could hear him, but there needed to be a buffer. He shuffled through the couple years old phone book that the school gave out and found the home phone listed under Reggie’s name.

The phone rang three times before a man picked it up with a hushed “hello?”

“Hi. Am I speaking to Mr. Peters? This is Mr. Greene, a teacher at your son’s elementary school.” There was a silence on the phone before someone yelled something clearly directed towards something, but it wasn’t obvious what. Mr. Greene felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck. No, this is Reggie’s brother. Our father is at work right now, and mom is at her book club. What did you need?”

“Oh, um, I was just calling to let you know that Reggie is still at school and really should be picked up. He’s currently with me and is safe, but we both need to go home at some point.”

Reggie’s brother groaned. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll be over in about thirty.” He immediately hung up on the teacher, who just stared at the phone for a couple of seconds.

When he returned to Reggie, the child was plucking the strings carefully, seemingly amazed by the different sounds that it produced. He repeatedly plucked both E strings, alternating one after the other. “Hey, kiddo. Enjoying yourself?” Reggie nodded eagerly.

“I have a question.”

“I assumed you would.”

Reggie pointed at the E strings. “These two. They sound, I don’t know. I can’t describe it.” Mr. Greene just chuckled and reached for the guitar, but was still waiting for Reggie’s approval. He strummed all the strings at one time, and then each individually. “Now, I’m no expert, but these together are a chord. Each string individually plays a note. These two,” he played both E’s, “Are the same note, just in what are called different octaves. You probably hear how they sound similar, and that’s because they’re the same; one is just higher than the other.”

Reggie stared, amazed, feeling like he wanted to ask a million things but also had every question he’s ever wondered answered. Mr. Greene just continued to play what he had been before lightly. It sounded familiar to Reggie, but he couldn’t quite place it. He also didn’t want to look stupid, so he didn’t ask, opting just to listen instead. 

They both zoned out into the music before Mr. Greene suddenly stopped. “Sorry, I got distracted there. But yeah, um, that was Sweet Home Alabama, I’m sure you’ve heard it.” Reggie nodded. “It sounds a little different with a different type of guitar, but I hope it wasn’t too rough.”

“No, it was nice. What type of guitar is this?”

“It’s acoustic, which means it doesn’t have to be plugged into an amp to be played. Most music today is played with an electric guitar, which does need the amp. There’s also bass guitars, which are similar but are a totally different instrument if you ask someone who plays.”

Reggie was hooked. He knew, if only by the premise of his favorite teacher playing, that he wanted to make music. It would be a struggle to get his parents to buy him an instrument, but Christmas was coming soon, so maybe there would be something there. 

Mr. Greene continued to explain how the instrument worked; how each string was tuned to a specific note but could play different ones if they were pressed down in certain areas on the neck. Reggie, for once, felt that he understood immediately. It just made sense.

Reggie’s brother, Andrew, showed up a few minutes later. The teen was awkwardly accompanied by the office secretary, who clearly didn’t want to be there. He didn’t say anything, just stood in the doorway fidgeting with his necklace while Reggie got up and waved to Mr. Greene.

They walked in silence to the car. Reggie was still buzzing from his impromptu music lesson, but his brother was clearly trying to not talk about something, so nothing was mentioned. 

Nothing until they got home.

Reggie was unbuckling when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Drew sighed before quietly asking “So, you know how mom and dad have been arguing a lot?” Reggie just nodded, a little confused.

"Well, they got really heated today. More than normal. Mom went to stay at a friend’s house overnight. She’ll come back tomorrow.” 

Reggie nodded, thinking just a little too much. “They. What were they fighting about this time?” He didn’t get an honest answer. Drew wanted to tell him that it was about him, about Reggie’s grades, and how he isn’t doing well in school, and that he’s a disappointment to the family. Their words. He wanted to tell them how their dad said they regretted having him. 

But that was a lot to put on a nine-year-old.

So he didn’t. 

“Just uh, the usual. It didn’t make too much sense, but it’s not important. Just uh, I know mom sometimes reads to you at night, and since she’s not here, I could do it.” He gave a weak smile, but Reggie lit up. The boys didn’t get to spend much time together; being in two completely different school settings and age groups separating them.

They left the car and went to the house, where, upon entry, their father was seen lighting a cigarette from a pack that was half empty. The room smelled, and Reggie nearly gagged at first.

He didn’t say anything to them, just glared before inhaling. The boys walked to their respective rooms, and, still smelling the smoke, Reggie opened the window in his as best he could (it was a little tall for him). He opened his backpack and shuffled through, only to find that there was a guitar pick placed atop one of his notebooks. He picked it up, examining it. It was gently used; there were a couple of fingerprints and some slight roughness on the sides. 

Reggie ran his thumb over it, and smiled to himself, replaying “Sweet Home Alabama” in his head. He didn’t do any homework that night, instead, miming the guitar and singing to any song he could get his head to focus on until Drew showed up to read to him.

It was two years later that Reggie and his parents moved again. His brother had gone off to college and saved up enough from work that he was able to afford an apartment with a roommate. His father’s work brought him down to Los Angeles this time, and with a surprising find of a job for his mom, they were able to afford a small home on the edge of a beach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Some blood, swearing, smoking (and a small burn from such), mentions of arguing, generally shit parenting

They moved early into June, Reggie’s mom having argued that he needed to be able to at least finish off the school year at his current school. His father only agreed on the idea that, since he was finishing in elementary school, he’d have a new chance for middle school, and as such, might finally be able to make a decent impression. 

Reggie, in a new setting, without school open to help him meet people, and without knowing anyone around, had no friends.

He did, however, now have the opportunity and time to bug his parents enough to finally get him a guitar.

Granted, it was with the promise of minimal practice time, only when his father is out of the house, and that if Reggie didn’t actively use it, it would be thrown out. It was also a bass, not a guitar, because “It was cheaper in the shop they went to.”

But Reggie went with it. He was finally able to use the pick that he held onto for two years as more than just a table decoration, and he could finally have a reason to own it so his father would stop trying to throw it away. It was also a reminder of his only close friend that he made in NorCal, whom he would never see again. 

His father was out of the house a lot, his new location being understaffed and needing all the overtime he could put in. Which meant the house was empty for most of the day, which also meant that he was playing for most of the day. There was a library a short walk away, way bigger than any he had seen previously, with a massive selection of music for him to pick from. He checked out what was probably too many, but it didn’t cost any money, so it was fine. He also realized nearly immediately that he had no idea how to read sheet music. So he picked up a book on finger positions and what they mean and other basics of the bass. 

Reading and playing music was like second nature to Reggie. It just made sense. Normally learning anything for him was like learning a new language, but when he played, the music felt like it was his natural language, that this was what everything was meant to be. He could hear notes and understand where they landed and what they needed to be accompanied by to feel right. 

He explained this to Drew one night over the phone. He was told that “that sounds like perfect pitch. A college friend of mine has it. From what I can tell it makes getting into music a lot easier than normal people. That’s pretty special,” and, for the first time, when Reggie was called “special” it wasn’t meant as an insult that was being covered.

His brother had to hang up because he had classes soon but promised that he’d call back at some point in the week. 

Emboldened by his brother, Reggie brought it up at dinner that night. 

Generally, dinner was the only time that his parents weren’t fighting. It was usually filled with tense silence, but it was at least quiet. Tonight, however, the argument of the day continued. It seemed like they were just fighting over how much Reggie’s father was working and how he was never home. 

Reggie really didn’t mind since it was always loud when he was, and the house felt like it loomed with smoke at night, but no one ever asked him.

Why would they? They were too busy not asking each other things.

There was a moment of silence, small, but enough for Reggie to slip in, “so I’ve been practicing.”

His mom perked up, his father glared. 

He didn’t know where to go from there, but he actually had their attention for once.

“Um, I’m liking it a lot. Drew thinks that I might have some potential for music.”

“Andrew isn’t even here; how would he know?” His father’s voice was repressing something that felt angry, but Reggie couldn’t place it.

“When he calls, we’ll talk about it sometimes.”

“Honey, that’s great. Have you heard anything from him about school? He talks to you the most.” Reggie shook his head. “He seems fine, but he hasn’t mentioned anything specifically.” That didn’t quite seem to satisfy them, but they didn’t press any further. 

The rest of the dinner was quiet and felt heavier than most of their meals. There was no talking until Reggie asked if he could be excused from the table to go to his room. As soon as they thought he was out of earshot, his parents started fighting again, but there was no “out of earshot” in the house. 

Reggie flopped on his bed and pulled out the pick that he now always kept in his pockets. It had gotten more worn down, but it wasn’t unusable, and so he continued to be exclusive with it. Mr. Greene would have been proud, he liked to think. 

The argument this time seemed to be spurred by Reggie’s mentioning playing bass. His father didn’t seem pleased with it, but he never seemed pleased with anything Reggie did. His mom, however, was glad that he found something that came easily to him, that he actually wanted to learn. Maybe it would be a good way to get him to do things, he could hear her say. That seemed to appease his father enough for him to quiet down. 

Reggie grabbed the bass but neglected to plug it in before playing with the strings. He didn’t want to make too much noise, but the only thing in his head was the song he had been working on. He was so close, but there was just one section that he couldn’t get.

He started slow, making sure to follow each specific note and make sure that he had the correct one even though he couldn’t hear them well. The notes themselves weren’t the issue though. The rhythm was causing problems. It was just a little too fast with just a little too much space between where his fingers needed to be. Part of it was just that his hands were still a little small, but Reggie was too determined to get it to let something like that get in his way.

After about the fourth try of playing it at the correct tempo and still not getting it, Reggie threw his pick to the wall. He tossed the bass to the side of his bed and went to pick it up but found that one of the corners had bent upon impact and didn’t look like it would bend back. 

He bent it the other way, fully breaking it. 

It sat in his palm, and despite Reggie willing it to, the pick did not, in fact, go back together. He didn’t think he could work magic, but at that moment, it would be nice. Instead, he relegated to squeezing it hard enough that he ended up cutting his palm with the broken end. It wasn’t bad, less than a centimeter long, but it was in the middle of his palm, and with all the movement, it didn’t feel great.

Reggie went to the closest bathroom, hoping they would have bandaids stocked up, but after rummaging through the drawers in there, it didn’t look like there were any. He rinsed his hand under some warm water, shook it off, but neglected to dry it since he didn’t want to know what would happen if he got blood on a towel.

He left for the kitchen to find a paper towel. His mom was on the house phone, her voice a little shaken but warm and almost excited. His father had gone after his pack of cigarettes again. The smoke was vaguely visible a room over.

The space felt weirdly empty without the yelling, which always seemed to fill up the room. He grabbed a paper towel before realizing that he should probably rinse his hand again since it had continued bleeding a little bit. The water pressure in the kitchen had stronger pressure and stung more when it hit his palm, but it quickly ended up feeling soothing. When finished, he held the towel to his palm before finding his father since he didn’t want to disturb his mom’s call.

“Dad? Um, I didn’t see any bandages in the bathroom. I think we might need some more.” His father barely spared him a glance before going back to smoking. Reggie stepped closer before asking a bit louder, “Sorry, I don’t know if you heard? We need-”

“Yeah, I fucking heard you.” Reggie flinched. “Why don’t you go ask your mother? It's her job to worry about that shit.” He flicked his cigarette behind him, in the direction of both Reggie and his mom in the other room. An ember flew towards him, hitting his forearm before he knew what was happening. Reggie winced, shook his arm violently, and rubbed the area affected. It didn't look like it would burn; however, it still hurt in the moment. 

Reggie looked down, seeing that, when shaking his arm, he had accidentally dropped some blood on the floor. He still had the paper towel on him, so he bent down to clean it up, but apparently, his presence had lingered for too long because his father barked at him, "why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to fuck off?" 

"I just, um," Reggie stumbled backward, falling over in the process. He gripped the towel to his palm again, definitely too hard, as he felt the cut open a little bit. "I'm sorry, I was. I'll leave." 

He quietly left as fast as he could without running, shuffling into the room his mom was occupying. He wasn’t quite sure where she was in the call, but he just let her talk. If she heard him enter, she didn’t show it, fully involved with the conversation.

“I don’t know, mom, we just moved here, and it’s beautiful, but Robert is already finding problems with it.” She paused. “Yes, we’ve signed him up for school. I just hope he makes friends this time.”

Reggie backed away a step. He knew his parents expected more from him, but he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like he didn’t try to make friends, but it seemed like everyone just avoided him.

He tore a corner of the paper towel off before rolling it into a ball to fiddle with. It fell from his fingers, so he picked it up, the noise of his movement enough to finally get the attention of his mom. She held the phone from her mouth, looked at him, and briefly asked, “what?”

Reggie held his hand out to his mom, showing her the cut. “We needed more bandages, and father said I should tell you.” His mom rolled her eyes, then nodded. "I'll add it to the list. Isn't it bedtime?" 

Her voice sent chills through Reggie. Usually, she was the warmth to his father’s coldness when his parents fought, but this phone call was apparently infinitely more important than his injured hand, so he gave a short nod and left to his room. 

Wandering over to the trash can in his room, Reggie finally looked at how his hand was. It had a blood scab, which was crumbling off with any movement, but it didn’t continue to bleed. He opened and closed his hand a couple of times, then grabbed his bass from where it was leaning on his bed. The pressure from the neck on his palm stung, but not enough to make him let go. 

He strummed on it, feeling immediately the difference between playing with a pick and playing with his fingers. It hurt, but not more than anything else that night, so Reggie resigned himself to learn how to play without a pick, knowing it was unlikely that he’d be able to pester his parents enough to have them get him some more.

Reggie zoned out for a minute, sitting on his bed, plucking at the strings, before realizing that he should probably put the bass back on its stand. He didn’t change out of his clothes before laying on his bed, nor did he bother to get under the sheets; instead just laying with a blanket splayed over his torso. It wasn’t late, only about 8 pm, but Reggie still found himself falling asleep almost immediately. 

He woke up to yelling in the middle of the night, although he couldn’t tell what it was about. It quieted for a moment before a door slammed, and he heard his father yell, “where do you think you’re going?” so he assumed his mom had walked out on the argument. His father stomped around what sounded like his room, but Reggie couldn’t be sure, before finally settling down again. 

Reggie was awake. His adrenaline was pumping, and his breath was suddenly rapid. Each inhale felt laborious, and as if he was readily breathing in the smoke, his father pumped out with each cigarette he lit. It took a few minutes before he actually smelled the pungent scent, but when it hit him, he calmed slightly. Usually, when his father smoked, it meant he was coping. Poorly, but it was better than taking it out on someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you're enjoying me make poor Reggie suffer, I promise the next few chapters are nicer to him. Pinky promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Very lightly implied homophobia
> 
> Hi! This chapter as well as next week's chapter used to be one, but it was way longer than any of the others, so I ended up splitting them. They're pretty soft in comparison to the rest of the content (with the exception of like, one more chapter), so please enjoy the fluff break.

Nothing much happened that summer, aside from Reggie getting into the groove with his bass. He still wasn't incredible, but after spending so much time with it, he began to feel connected to it in some way. What once was a glossy, slightly used instrument was now Reggie's instrument. He had grown with it, gotten a few scratches with it, become callused with it. 

School was starting up again, and Reggie felt nothing but dread at the idea. 

He barely passed the entirety of elementary school. His old teachers had a lovely habit of pushing onto the kids how difficult middle school would be, how the teachers aren't going to be as forgiving since "they're big kids now," which, frankly, is a lie since almost none of them had started growing yet. 

He was dropped off by the bus early in the morning, still needing to pick up his class schedule. The school was large, and he had no idea of where he was headed. However, it seemed smart to follow the slow stream of older children walking in a certain direction. 

They led him to what appeared to be a cafeteria, set up with different booths for different sections of the alphabet. He spotted the banner painted "J-Q" and headed over, assuming it was for last names. There were a couple of kids in the line before him, allowing him time to rehearse what was supposed to happen.

His mom had given him a folder with paperwork in it, had told him to give it to the person who asked for it. Which was incredibly helpful.

The boy who was currently at the front of the line caught his eye. Most of the other people were wearing shorts and graphic tees that their parents likely picked out. But this kid had on a bright red beanie covering his mop of hair, an old, too large band shirt, baggy black jeans, and a pair of well-loved vans. 

He looked like someone Reggie wanted to know.

But he also looked like someone who wouldn't pay any mind to Reggie. So, when he finished and walked past the line, Reggie didn't bother trying to talk to him. He allowed himself one more glance at the kid, who was meeting with another boy, a blonde in a short sleeve, pastel button-up, and a pair of khakis before they walked out together.

His attention was brought back to the line when he felt whoever was behind him give his shoulder a shove. Another kid had finished up, leaving only one other person to be a buffer before his turn arose. 

It felt like a blink before he was up. The lady asked for his name, which he gave, and then for the papers, his parents were supposed to fill out, which he assumed were those that his mom gave him.

He expected to have done something wrong. That this lady would yell at him for something not being filled out, or that maybe this wasn't the right school to begin with. She didn't. Just gave him another form to get signed and to "give to his homeroom teacher, which is going to be your first-period teacher." She pointed to the name and room number on another paper; his schedule. He thanked her and walked off awkwardly, not really knowing where to go. 

"Ryan, math and science, room 37. Sure." Reggie was standing in an open area, with different hallways of classrooms spread around him. None of them indicated where room 37 might be.

So he started walking forwards, hoping to find someone who could show him around. There are other sixth graders, surely he couldn't be the only one lost, right?

He wasn't. It took all of a minute to find a staff teacher who was showing other students around. 

Reggie approached her, waited until she was finished with the other student, and asked, "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but where's room 37?" She smiled, assured him it was no problem, and explained that it was a straight shot forward and to the left. Pointing to a small group outside of a door, she said, "those other kids should be waiting for the same class."

He nodded, thanked her, but hesitated before going over. She gave him a smile and gestured for him to head over, so he went. 

Not wanting to intrude on some of the conversations already happening, Reggie leaned on a wall just outside the group. No one said anything to him, but that was fine. 

He just looked over his schedule again. 

His next classes appeared to be English and history, which he was less than excited for. Math at least had concepts that didn't change, and he could apply musical concepts to math, but English had too many hypotheticals and too many rules that didn't always apply when they really should. History was fine, it just had a tendency to run pretty boring.

He also had a study hall followed by P.E., neither of which seemed particularly offensive.

A bell rang, and a couple of seconds later, the students were ushered into the classroom they had huddled around. The teacher, Mr. Ryan, Reggie had to remind himself, greeted the students individually, asked their names, and handed them a card. Reggie received the four of spades and shuffled to the outside of the room with everyone else. A few students showed each other their cards, exchanged confused looks, but ultimately continued to stand around.

"Alright, guys, I want you all to look at the cards I've given you. Those will determine your seats for the next month or so. Find the matching card on the desks."

Reggie found his pretty quickly, then sat down quietly. Three girls sat down, already chatting up a storm about what they had done over the summer. Two of them were blonde, with arm length wavy hair, which seemed the only notable thing about them.

The other girl kept to herself but gave Reggie a polite wave before pulling out a pencil and notebook. She had pin-straight black hair and wore a loose leather jacket over a sweatshirt. 

"Now that you all have found your seats, today we're going to get to know everyone. I'll pass out a worksheet to all of you. It has ten questions, split into two sides. I want you guys to find someone at the table you don't know, get their name, and put both your name and their name on the paper. Then, on the left side, write what you think their answers to the questions will be. When you're both finished, tell the other person the actual correct answers."

Reggie looked up, and saw the two blondes already began working together. He looked at the other girl and quickly said, "Hi, I'm Reginald. Uh, you can call me Reggie." She giggled and held out her hand. "Jessica, but you can call me Jess."

Jess was nice, if a little quiet. She listened when Reggie explained how he found a love for music, he listened when she explained that she's really into drawing, and it's the only thing that's stuck with her since she was a child. 

There was a question about siblings, which led Reggie into a tangent about Drew before he realized that he hadn't even asked Jess if she had any. He apologized, and asked about her family.

"Oh, I have a sister. She's two years older than me, goes here too."

"Oh, nice. Do you happen to know the layout of the school, then?"

"Weird question," she gave him a funny look. "But, yes, she showed me the school over the summer. Do you need help finding your classes?"

Reggie nodded. "Okay, let me see your schedule." He handed her the paper, which she flipped over, and drew a rudimentary map of the school on the back. Circling the hallways, and labeling them, she gave it back.

"So, this is where we are." She points to a starred location. "And this is where you'll want to go next." Reggie nodded again, placed his chin on his hand, listening to her explain his movement plan. 

He takes the schedule back from her and flashes her the first smile that's felt genuine since he'd seen Drew in person. Their fingers brush, causing Reggie to jerk his hand away, crumpling the paper a little bit. He looks at her, trying to read her face. She gives him a fake angry look, scoffs, jokingly says, "c'mon, you ruined my picture! Now how will you read it?"

"You uh," Reggie cleared his throat. "You could walk me there?"

Jess laughed. "Sure. My class is in that direction anyway." 

They continued making small talk until the bell rang. Reggie stood up first, not having much to pack up. Jess followed, making a beeline for the door, not realizing that Reggie had gotten stuck in the swarm of other students leaving. 

She waited for him at the door, walking at his pace so that he didn't need to slow down for her. They walked out through the hallway into the open area again. Jess stopped abruptly, giving Reggie a confused look when he didn't do the same. 

He quickly found his way back to her, returning the look. Her expression changed, first to a more judgemental look, then to one of understanding. "We have a break, ya know. Like recess? They aren't just gonna make us sit through four classes in a row. School's cruel, but not that much." 

Reggie felt stupid. Of course. That would explain the many kids gathering among each other, all of whom seemed to know each other. He tucked into himself slightly, hands going to his jean pockets. 

Jess sat down at a bench nearby, Reggie, following suit, pulled his backpack off before putting it onto his lap. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Jess suddenly turned to him.

"Random question, what's your favorite color?"

"What?"

"Your favorite color. As an artist, I firmly believe that favorite colors say something about a person."

"Oh, uh, I like red?"

Jess looked him over, pondering for a second. "Red. So you're pretty passionate, probably loud when you're comfortable. You are strong, bold, but also caring. Maybe a little stubborn? Power-hungry?" She looked at him expectantly.

Reggie didn't exactly feel strong, or bold, or power-hungry, but he didn't want this new person to feel like he was fighting her. "You got that from...me liking red?" 

She went into a ramble about color theory, which Reggie half-listened to, but he was momentarily distracted by a kid who was so obviously out of place. The blond one, in the pastels. He tapped Jess's shoulder, gesturing to this kid.

"What does that say about him?"

She looked over, immediately finding him, before rolling her eyes back to Reggie. "The outfit is just tacky, though he doesn't look comfortable, so that might be his parents. But if he chose those colors, he's probably pretty soft, emotional. That color is seen with girls, mostly, take that how you will. I wouldn't be seen with him." Her sneer was vicious. "He doesn't seem like the kind of person my family would be okay with."

Right when he was about to ask what she meant, the bell rang again. Jess stood up and turned to face Reggie, who was still sitting. He thought about asking, but her face was hard, and clearly indicated that she was done talking about the subject.

However, he remained seated, trying to piece together how someone that could be taken so poorly was friends with a guy that Reggie was convinced was the pinnacle of cool. 

Jess bopped his shoulder with her hand, forcing him out of his thoughts. She gestured with her head that they needed to go, prompting Reggie to stand up.

"You remember where you're going?" 

Reggie had to think to picture the map in his head but confidently headed off to the left. Jess tapped him on the shoulder before he got too far. She gestured her head towards the right, causing him to hold out his hands to figure out which direction was which.

"I knew that." 

"Sure you did, Reginald. Come on, we're gonna be late." Reggie rolled his eyes at the use of his full name, but didn't miss the warm feeling he got when someone who wasn't his parents said it.

They parted at the end of Reggie's class's hallway, as Jess was in a different one. She waved to him, and he waved back, and he may or may not have continued to stare for a little longer than he should have.

When he entered the room, he was greeted by an enthusiastic teacher who shook his hand. "Good morning! My name is Mr. Sandoval. May I ask your name?"

"Reginald Peters, but you can call me Reggie."

"Well, Reggie, I look forward to teaching you this year. For now, look for your name on a desk, and take out a pencil. Go ahead and read the paper on the desk, and follow the instructions there."

Reggie gave a small smile before walking over to his desk. They were organized alphabetically, so it wasn't hard to find his in the middle of the room. He pulled the pencil he had brought out, and looked at the paper, but couldn't help but look at the empty desk next to his. 

"Lucas Patterson"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Jess is mentioned a couple more times, but doesn't really have a large role. I do, however, want to write separate stories about her. Who knows if I will, though. She's also kind of a piece of shit, but Reggie doesn't know that. 
> 
> And thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story because I am loving writing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of child neglect and arguing, but nothing explicitly shown
> 
> Yeehaw, they're finally here! Please enjoy the like, second to last chapter where I'm nice to Reggie. I genuinely think there's like, one more. Maybe.

Reggie went back to his own paper. It asked for things like his name, date of birth, some interests he had. Nothing was unusual. It asked for some other pretty basic things, such as family information, if they have any pets, and specific interests they may have. He filled it out, not paying attention to anything else since he didn’t have to, so he didn’t notice when the desk next to him was filled.

“Hey,” Reggie felt a hand smack his shoulder. “Do you have a pencil? My friend stole the only one I had.”

Reggie rolled his eyes, not loving being hit by someone he doesn’t know, but looked through his backpack anyway, pulling out a pen. 

“Not a pencil, but,” he finally looked up at who was talking to him. “I have. Um.” It was him, the boy with the cool fashion that Reggie so desperately wanted to be friends with. He never finished the sentence, just held the pen out to the kid. 

“That works. Thanks. I’m Luke, by the way.” Luke put the pen down, then held out his hand to shake. Reggie took it, refusing to grab his hand with any force. However, Luke aggressively shook his hand, to the point that Reggie would swear he was thrown in his chair a little bit. 

Reggie expected to be able to pull his hand back, but Luke had grabbed his wrist and was looking at him with amazement. “You have some gnarly calluses on your fingers, dude.”

“Oh, yeah, I-”

“Alright, class. Welcome to my English and history class. You may have forgotten, I don’t mind, but my name is Mr. Sandoval.”

Reggie looked to Mr. Sandoval, arm still being held by Luke. He was just doing introductions, so Reggie didn’t mind turning back to Luke to finish his sentence.

“I picked up playing the bass this summer, and my pick broke, so I had to learn to play without one.”

Luke finally let Reggie’s arm go. 

“No way!” he whispered, glancing back to the teacher to make sure they weren’t missing anything important. 

“Okay, you guys are going to meet the person sitting next to you, get to know each other. They’re going to be your partner for any projects through the semester until we change seats later. If you need any talking points, feel free to ask, but try to find common interests between yourselves.”

Reggie and Luke looked at each other once Mr. Sandoval stopped talking. Reggie gave him a look, trying to tell him to go one, but he didn’t want to actually say anything.

“No, okay, my friend and I, the one that stole my pencil, we’re trying to make a band. He plays drums and took the pencil because he forgot to bring his sticks, and he was going to go seriously mental if he couldn’t drum something out. He has anxiety. I play guitar and write our songs.”

“What kind of music do you play?”

Luke looked at him like that was a stupid question, then puffed out his shirt. “Rock. We’re gonna be the greatest rock band ever.”

“Isn’t that, like, the Beatles, or something?”

“We’ll be bigger than the Beatles. I gotta ask Alex, he’s the drummer, and we’ll have to hear you play, but you want in?”

Reggie didn’t know what to say. He had never been asked to join something before. No one had ever wanted to be his friend, especially not someone who was as cool as Luke appeared to be. Reggie assumed this “Alex” was the blonde kid in the button up from this morning. He didn’t look like someone that Reggie would be friends with; more so like one of the guys that would make fun of Reggie struggling to finish his tests or that would laugh at his hand-me-down backpack from when his brother was his age.

Reggie also thought back to what Jess had implied about him earlier, though he still didn’t quite know what it meant, or what was so bad about it.

But he was friends with Luke, and Luke didn’t seem like he would hang out with those kinds of people.

That had to count for something.

“Yeah, I’d love to.” Reggie held his hand out again, preparing to make a deal. Luke gladly shook it, then smirked at Reggie. “Lunch is after this set of classes. You want to sit with us?”

Reggie must have had an awed look on his face because Luke gave him a quizzical one.

“Sorry, I’m just new here, and I don’t know anyone, and I, um,” he didn’t want to sound lame and say how he hadn’t had any friends before. “I didn’t expect to meet such cool people immediately.”

Luke grasped his shoulder, staring intensely into his eyes.

“Thanks, you’re pretty cool yourself. I like the look. It won’t clash with Alex or me.”

The “look” was a plain white tee that used to be his brother’s and black jeans that began to tear, not because that was the original style, but because when he told his parents that he needed new pants, they disregarded it because “he was still wearing the ones he had.” The look grew on him, though, so he went with it, tearing the pants more. 

Reggie was about to respond, to tell Luke that his beanie looked cool, or something about AC/DC, or maybe Bon Jovi, that was definitely fake because his parents wouldn’t let him listen to such loud music, but he was cut off before he got the chance.

“Oh my god, dude, I forgot to ask about your name!”

Reggie flashed a sincere smile, followed by a small laugh before responding, “Don’t worry about it, I’m Reggie. I like your hat, by the way.”

Luke raised a hand to his hat, reminding himself that it was there, then smiled at Reggie. They quickly fell into a comfortable silence, which was fine, because Mr. Sandoval started talking again. Beginning with explaining the books that they would read, the specific history curriculum they would cover (although, in his words, he was an English major, so the history would probably take a back seat).

Reggie looked down at his desk, not thrilled at the idea of a split class that wasn’t really split, especially when the class was mostly the one he hated most. But Mr. Sandoval seemed enthusiastic, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Especially not with Luke in class. 

He started zoning out a little, beginning to map out fingerings for his bass on the desk. Just some simple things, like basic scales and chords, which he didn’t have to think too hard about. It quickly turned into practicing the song he was working on, and his attention was gone from the mini-lesson they had begun to receive.

This continued for the remainder of the class. Reggie half-listened, due to the finger movements becoming nearly muscle memory to him, but he didn’t fully realize that the class had finished until the bell shocked him out of his daze. 

The students rose around him, heading towards the door while Mr. Sandoval wished them a good day. Luke tossed his backpack over his shoulder, then smacked Reggie’s arm lightly and motioned for him to follow. 

They walked out of the room, Luke waved to Mr. Sandoval, and they both received a warm “goodbye” as they left. It was a quiet few moments before Reggie cleared his throat.

“How long have you been playing?”

Luke’s eyes lit up, even in the crowded school hallway.

“Well, I started singing and writing before I can even remember, but, do you know the movie Back to the Future?” Reggie nodded. “Well, I love it. And I would always talk about wanting to be Marty, and my parents thought the only way to get me to stop talking about it was to get me a guitar. I tried learning ‘Johnny B. Goode’ and ‘The Power of Love,’ but it didn’t go very well.”

The two had arrived at a small table outside, where a kid, the one who looked dressed for Easter, was already sitting. He looked up from his food to give Luke a short wave and Reggie a quick glance. 

“Alex,” Luke gestured to Reggie with both arms open. “This is Reggie.” 

Reggie holds his hand up, spitting out “hey,” before awkwardly looking between the other two boys. Luke sat down, pulled out his food, then flung some fabric at Alex’s face.

“You look like you’re dying in that shirt, and I had an extra.” Alex grinned. “You are a lifesaver, Patterson.”

“Speaking of being a lifesaver,” Luke waved Reggie to sit down, since he had just been standing, watching the two. “I found us a bass player.”

Alex made direct eye contact with Reggie before looking him over. 

“Keep him busy for me. I’m gonna go change.” The blond stood up, tossing the shirt Luke had given him to himself and walked off towards what Reggie assumed was the bathroom. 

Reggie had settled but awkwardly tried to fold himself into a smaller body when Luke looked at him. He was eating out of a paper sack. What looked like a sandwich and a bag of chips. Luke, mouth full of bread, gestured at Reggie with his sandwich.

“You gonna eat?”

Reggie stared at him, not fully realizing what he was asked. Luke reinforced his look with a raise of his eyebrows but was still chewing. 

“Oh, um, I must have forgotten to pack something today. I was in a rush to get on the bus.” He didn’t want to explain that he had fully intended to ask about food this morning, but his parents were already fighting, this time about how they haven’t heard from Drew in months and how it’s the other person’s fault.

Luke kept eating, but immediately grabbed the bag of chips and tossed them over to Reggie. His eyes flickered between Luke and the chips, to which he received a reassuring nod, so he grabbed them. “Alex might have some more food. His folks tend to hover, including making sure he has too much to eat.” 

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I barely know you guys. I don’t want to, ya know.” Reggie’s gaze dropped to the table. It was one of the metal tables that was wrapped in rubber that had more holes than substance. He was particularly interested in a blue piece of gum poorly hidden underneath. 

“Yo, it’s no problem. That’s what friends are for.”

Reggie’s chest blossomed with warmth. He opened the bag with a small smile, proceeding to shove the chips into his face. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but looking back on it, even dinner was just what he could put together in the short amount of time that his parents weren’t home. 

They ate in silence until Alex returned a minute later, looking significantly more comfortable than in the button up. He sat down, folded the shirt before gently putting it in his backpack, and pulled out his lunchbox. 

“Lex, you got any extra food?” 

“You only bring a sandwich today?” 

Luke shook his head while he swallowed another bite.

“Nah, Reggie got a little eager for school,” Reggie laughed at the thought of being excited about school, “and forgot to pack some food.” Alex nodded in understanding. He splayed the contents of his lunch box out to Reggie. 

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Reggie shook his head, cocking it slightly. Luke picked up his question before he could even say it, explaining how Alex had a nasty allergy to every nut except for peanuts. He pulled out an EpiPen from a side pocket on his backpack.

“His mom is convinced that him having an extra is gonna help me out someday. I don’t know if he’d ever need to, though.” Alex shrugged. “Okay, you hungry for anything specifically? I have an entire buffet at my disposal.”

Reggie shook his head. “Whatever you don’t want is fine. I mean, you really don’t have to.” He was cut off by a bagged sandwich being shoved into his chest. 

“It’s peanut butter and banana, because my mom is convinced that jelly has too much sugar.” Reggie looked at the item, smiled inwardly before quietly thanking the blond. He took a bite, to which his stomach replied with a grumble.

The three continued to eat. After finishing his food first, Luke continued where he left off on his Back to the Future tangent, somehow remembering exactly what he was talking about. Alex rolled his eyes when he heard the topic be brought up, clearly having heard this speech before, if not experienced the love for the movie firsthand.

The bell rang, startling Reggie with how loud it was. He zoned out for a moment, but was snapped back to reality by Alex asking what class he had next. They found out that Luke’s next class was in the same hallway, but was in a different room, so the two headed off together after saying goodbye to Alex.

They walked in a comfortable silence until they reached Luke’s class. Reggie was set to just drop him off and go, but that didn’t seem to be the other’s plan. He reached into his backpack while batting Reggie’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Yo, you said that you broke your pick, right?” 

Reggie nodded, rubbing his thumb over the calluses.

“I totally forgot to give this to you earlier, but I have a couple extra. Here.” Luke held his hand out impatiently. Reggie felt three new guitar picks drop into his palm. He clenched it without realizing; they had hit the barely noticeable scar from when he broke the first one.

“Also, where are you being picked up? You wanna meet up while we wait?”

Reggie nonchalantly explained that he took the bus, since his brother wasn’t around to pick him up anymore, and his parents were generally too busy to come and get him themselves. Luke opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally talking.

“Do you want my mom to bring you home? We sometimes drop Alex off. It shouldn’t be too much of a big deal.”

He didn’t need to consciously react. Reggie’s chest warmed, and his face broke out into a large smile. Luke glanced to his class, quickly saying, “cool. I’ll meet you near our English classroom?” Reggie just responded with a sharp nod, deciding that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start towards his class.

He waved, turned around, but smiled again when Luke nearly yelled, “I’m excited to hear you play!” He didn’t respond, didn’t ask for proof. He could tell that this new person was sincere, that he wouldn’t have to show that he mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you like the idea of Luke loving Back To The Future I have a whole cute story about it. Don't mind the self-promo lmao)
> 
> Anyway thank you for reading, I'm really excited about the next chapter, but I'm going to be honest, after that, I don't know how consistent the uploads will be, since school is starting again, and I've had minimal motivation to continue. I will try, however, I don't know if the once a week schedule will be maintained.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: there's a fat argument scene, which involves controlling/manipulative behavior, and like,,, guilt-tripping (I guess that would be the best word for it), also slight abandonment at the end

December in Los Angeles was unlike it had been in either Texas or Northern California. Texas, from what Reggie remembered, had somehow managed to stay cold, no matter how far south you went. And up north, he hadn’t lived far enough to see snow, but just enough to get a relentless amount of rain and a sharp sting to the air when it hit him. 

Los Angeles was pleasant. Mild.

It never seemed to go below 60 degrees, but sometimes the days seemed to never cool down, even at his home, near the water. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Mrs. Patterson was driving Reggie home, he and Luke talking in the middle of her van. They had already dropped Alex off since his house was much closer to Luke’s than Reggie’s. The windows were rolled down slightly, so if the boys were to start singing, as they were prone to do, everyone would hear them.

Luke loved the looks they would get from people just walking by. Reggie just liked to practice harmonizing with Luke since he usually took the melody. However, the song currently playing wasn’t one either of them knew.

“Wait, Reg,” he turned to look at Luke. “you think you’ll be able to hang out over winter break?”

Reggie nodded his head, excitedly. “Duh. I already spend so much time with you guys, I don’t think my parents will notice a difference.”

Mrs. Patterson cleared her throat.

“Reggie, will I ever get to meet your parents?”

He froze for a moment, eyes glancing up at her. “Uh, yeah, I’m sure you can. They’re just pretty busy, so I don’t know when.” He looked down at the ground of the van but quickly started staring outside again. The lights painting the buildings distracted him enough. 

He knew that they should meet, especially since his parents had no idea where he really was for the majority of the time he was out. Reggie would tell them “at a friend’s”, or anything along those lines, and they never asked questions about it. It would be smart for them to at least have contact with the person who was housing him for so many hours nearly every day.

But he also had the feeling that they just might not care. It was always Mrs. Patterson who brought him home, and his parents never really said much to him unless they had heard something from the school. But, for safety reasons, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Reggie would just have to tell them before, so they knew to table whatever argument they would inevitably be having that day.

The boys continued to chat about their music for another couple of minutes before Mrs. Patterson started to slow down and pull up to Reggie’s house. Reggie, still glancing occasionally outside, made a note of the different car parked on the street where he was usually dropped off. 

It looked older than his parent’s cars, something that a college student without much money would own.

“Oh my god.”

Luke looked at him, confused. 

“My brother came to visit!”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s nice! Did he not visit at Thanksgiving?”

Reggie shook his head. They were all just sitting in the van while it was parked. There was no one around anyway.

“He was too busy with school to make it. His semester must have ended.”

“Must be nice to have a brother.” Luke grumbled, almost too quiet to hear. He sounded bitter, as if it were an attack for Mrs. Patterson to hear, and Reggie to not. Reggie wasn’t a fan of passive-aggressive comments, so he felt the need to play peace-maker before he left.

“Hey! Alex and I are your brothers, stupid.”

“Reggie.” Mrs. Patterson scolded lightly. Luke crossed his arms and looked away, but smiled regardless. 

They sat in silence for a moment too long before Reggie cleared his throat, excusing himself from the vehicle. He wished Luke a good night, thanked Mrs. Patterson, and left for his house. Los Angelos was never quiet, but whenever Reggie came home from practice, it always felt like it was. The boys could get loud, especially Alex. The drums brought something out in the child; whatever pent up emotions he was feeling at the time always seemed to be taken out on the drumset. Reggie worried about him sometimes.

He entered his house, closed the door, and was immediately tackled to a hug. He tensed before melting into his brother, who was incredibly warm. Reggie didn’t think he was cold until he felt the contrast. 

They pulled apart after a couple of minutes. Drew kept his hands on Reggie’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eye.

“I missed you, Reg. We gotta catch up on so much! You need to show me your bass playing skills. Oh, I have news to tell you, but I’m waiting to tell the whole family at dinner.”

Reggie was going to argue that their dad wouldn’t like it if he just started playing bass at night, but Drew was already walking to the kitchen, where food smelled like it was ready. So Reggie just rolled his eyes, walking to his room to put his backpack and instrument away before joining the rest of his family for dinner.

Drew and his parents were already seated at the table, quietly waiting for Reggie to show up. For once, the silence didn’t feel forced. His parents sat across from each other, causing Reggie’s seat to directly face Drew’s. His brother was brimming with energy, nearly vibrating under the anticipation. Reggie sat, looking around at the waiting faces.

Whatever news Drew had was clearly going to have to wait until the meal finished, as everyone dug in once their dad gave the nod of approval. 

It was the most comfortable meal the Peters had had since moving to SoCal. There wasn’t anything in the air lingering over them, no pressing of an argument that took a brief pause whenever company was around. Instead, the anticipation of what Drew had to tell everyone hung the table. 

Reggie ate his food fast enough where he couldn’t taste it, it just went in and down immediately, hoping that somehow, if he finished quickly enough, then dinner would be over, and they could get to the good part. His father cleared his throat to try to slow him down, but Reggie had nearly finished his plate by the time he got the warning. 

He and Drew stared at each other from across the table, both boys glancing at their parents, who weren’t talking with or looking at anyone else. They were eating slowly, as if to prove a point. Their mom finished first, giving a half-smile to her sons as she ate her last bite.

After what felt like hours, their father put his fork down, then gestured to Drew to allow him to speak. Reggie found himself distracted for a second by Drew’s fingers twisting the flat charm on his necklace but was quickly brought back when his brother cleared his throat.

“So, as you guys know, I haven’t really come to visit since I’ve been away at college.”

Their mom nodded aggressively.

“You know, Drew, it would be nice if you visited every now and then. It makes your father and I feel like you don’t care about us.” 

“I, um, I’m sorry. But I haven’t been visiting because I found someone.” Their father cocked an eyebrow and let out a small cough before asking, “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A girl. Her name’s Georgia. We had met in high school but never really talked until meeting again in college. She’s majoring in Global Studies, with a focus on Eurasian cultures. We had several classes together for multiple semesters, so it was pretty easy to stay in contact. We’ve been dating since November of our freshman year, and she moved in with me, and my roommates, a couple of months later.”

The reactions of his family were varied. Reggie smiled, knowing that his brother wasn’t the kind to take this kind of thing lightly. His parents made eye contact that, for the first time in a while, was driven more with concern than anger or frustration. 

They waited, the air charged with anticipation. 

“I proposed to Georgia about a month ago. We don’t have a wedding date or anything like that, though. We want to wait until college is over.”

No one responded; the only sound was the rubbing of Drew’s charm against the beaded chain, but it echoed in the kitchen as if it were an alarm going off. 

Despite the bright lights in the naturally bright room, Reggie could hardly see outside of the small tunnel vision surrounding the dinner table.

“You are 20, Andrew. You’re not ready to make that kind of decision in your life!” Their father slammed his fist on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“You guys got married at 21. What difference does it make?”

“We,” their mom gestured between herself and their father, “were dating for years before that decision. Our parents knew each other, knew they could trust the other’s families. We’ve never even met this girl. What was her name? Gigi?”

“Georgia, mom. And you have met her dad at some school event a couple of years back.”

“That’s beside the point. We’ve never met her. We don’t know what she’s like.-”

“You haven’t been home in years because of some girl. She’s taking our child away from us and now-”

“I haven’t had the time to come home anyway, not with school. I’ve been taking the fullest load I could and working-”

“-into drugs, or who knows what else, without-”

“-she’s not using-”

“-been distracting you from what’s really important-”

“-not, she’s been helping me manage my scheduling in general-”

Reggie had been forgotten. Again. He tried signaling to Drew to stop talking, to tell him that all his defenses weren’t going to change anything. Drew didn’t even look his way.

“You know-”

“What, Andrew? What do you know that you think we haven’t heard before?”

“You guys are the first people I’ve told about this because I was hoping for advice, but maybe you two are so self-centered that you can’t even be happy for your own son.”

Their mom opened their mouth, but Drew wasn’t finished.

“Maybe you’re right, I shouldn’t get married at this young. That’s probably the reason you guys can’t even have one conversation without it turning into a screaming match.”

The room went quiet again. Reggie could feel the air between the two parties being pulled tight, like a balloon ready to pop. 

Then it did.

“You ungrateful, loathsome piece of shit. We pay for your schooling; we can cut that off real quick.”

Drew took a pause at that. It was a serious threat, one that might actually happen if he didn’t stop talking. But it all just happened so fast.

“I carried you for nine months, I fed you, we provided a home for you, and this is the thanks we get?”

“No, you’re right, I won’t marry this girl, I’ll just get her pregnant, then feel obligated to marry because of this child, but not actually do anything about the problems that might arise, such as violent yelling. Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll just mirror your marriage because that worked so well the first time.”

“We did do something about it, we’ve managed to stay together for this long because of it!”

“Yeah, mom? what did you do?”

Drew’s and their mom’s faces were nearly touching, their father creeping towards the other two bodies. Reggie still sat at the table, unsure of where he was supposed to be involved in this. 

He very quickly realized that he wasn’t meant to be involved, so, with as little sound as he could possibly make, he began the trip to his room. Not that they could hear over the yelling, but Reggie’s stomach still dropped when Drew looked his way. The eye contact lasted longer than comfortable, but Drew went back to their father again when he circled back to Drew being ungrateful.

Once he got to his bedroom, he could still hear the yelling, however muffled it may be. He worried for the neighbors, who could also likely hear that something was happening. The parents had never had the cops called on them before, but with a third person added to the mix, the volume seemed exponentially higher.

Maybe that was just Reggie being hyper-aware of the situation.

He shut his eyes, hoping that maybe he could force himself to sleep, but to no avail. He tried to play his bass a little bit, which frequently calmed his nerves, but his hands were shaking too much from adrenaline. 

Settling for laying on his bed, his body was turned away from the direction the kitchen was in, a blanket shielding all but half of his face. He turned a worn pick Luke had given him between his fingers. It had become short and rough, but Reggie was careful to not cut any part of his hand again. The feeling of his calloused fingertips running over the jagged point of the plastic was grounding enough to distract him from the noise.

It reminded him of Luke, and Alex, and the band they had begun to form. They were still working on a name, but they knew it had to be something cool. Like “Closed Toed Shoes.” 

He felt a weight in his stomach when he thought about what life could be like, just living with them. Emily and Mitch were wonderful, always welcoming, and from what he had heard about the Mercers, they seemed chill as long as Alex kept his grades up. There was something in there about their reputation, but Reggie never paid close enough attention to catch it.

Reggie closed his eyes again, imagining a future where it was just the three of them, living together in some large house, with beautiful wives and a bunch of dogs. He didn’t know what girls Alex or Luke would be into, but Reggie’s thoughts of a future girlfriend were with Jess. She was his only friend, aside from the boys, and had proven to be something of a distraction in class, even with the two now sitting on opposite sides of the room.

But quickly went back to thinking of the boys, the music they might make, how Luke liked to share a mic with him, how they would bump into each other when a little too excited about performing for the Pattersons. Reggie liked to think that they would be successful early, that he could go away with them somewhere. A tour would be fun. Granted, there would still be screaming, but it would be good, nice, happy screaming, with applause from fans.

“Hey.” 

Reggie jumped underneath his blanket. His thoughts were loud enough to drown out the sound of Drew entering his room.

“I’m sorry. About all that.” Drew put his hand on Reggie’s closer shoulder. Reggie just shook his head.

“It’s alright. You know how they are.”

“Yeah,” Drew looked down, avoiding eye contact for a moment. “But I was hoping they wouldn’t be about this. Listen.”

Reggie sat up, finally looking at Drew. His face was red and flushed, eyes clearly having been crying. His hair was matted down with sweat, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled in two spots between his chest and shoulders.

“I don’t think I’m gonna stay. I’m really sorry. I was hoping that you could play for me, that we could spend some more time together. But um,” he looked to the door. “I don’t think I’m coming back. I can’t.”

Reggie didn’t say anything, just bit his lip to prevent himself from crying, and turned his face away. 

“I thought I could keep you safe, but clearly…” Drew shook his head instead of finishing. His hand squeezed Reggie’s shoulder, but neither of them talked for a couple of minutes.

Eventually, Reggie sighed, looking again at his brother. He had physically calmed down, but guilt had been washed over his face.

“It’s okay.”

Drew nodded.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Reg.” 

Reggie dropped the blanket from his shoulders. Drew fiddled with his necklace before turning abruptly to Reggie.

“Put your head down, real quick.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

So Reggie bowed, although he was already several inches shorter than Drew. He figured whatever was happening was meant to be a surprise, so he also closed his eyes.

He felt Drew’s warm hands around his neck. They were replaced by something vaguely heavy. When Reggie opened his eyes, he was greeted with the necklace his brother had worn for so long around his neck.

“I can’t actually be with you all the time. But this is like, the next best thing? Right?”

Reggie held the charm in his right hand. It was simple, a plain black stick of whatever vaguely metallic material it was made out of.

“Thanks, Drew. I know how much you like this thing.”

Drew shrugged. “It was just something for me to play with,” but he smiled when looking at Reggie wearing it. “Keep it safe for me.”

Reggie nodded as Drew stood up. He looked again at the door, hesitating before heading towards it. He reached for the handle, but hesitated actually turning it. With his back still turned from Reggie, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Reg. I’ll see you at one of your concerts,” he turned his head so it was facing Reggie as much as it could. “When you’re famous, yeah? I’ll tell my friends that that’s my brother, the one everyone loves.”

The door closed just as soon as it opened, and Reggie was suddenly left in silence. He followed his brother’s legacy, immediately starting to play with the necklace. His head had fallen silent, no thoughts of the future, or his parents, or anything. 

One thought popped into existence, though, once it was actually time for him to sleep. 

“We’re gonna be big. Tell your friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Quick update on the story: I still don't know if I'll be updating weekly anymore. For some reason, I have struggled with writing the next chapter, and if I'm not happy with how it turns out, I'm unlikely to post it. 
> 
> I'll probably be posting other stories, usually one-shots, because they're just easier for me to write for whatever reason. I don't plan on not writing this one, don't worry, but it might be longer between updates.
> 
> Hope y'all are having a good day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Underage Smoking, mentions of arguing, feelings of worthlessness, mentions of child neglect and general abuse
> 
> Yeehaw buckaroos! If y'all have been following the notes for the last few chapters, you know that I had no idea if this chapter was going to happen! And I'm gonna be honest, I didn't think it would. But guess what? Because of how this is set up, I was able to just nix the story I was going to tell for this one, and write a different one, and it's all good. (Not that anyone asked, lol) I think I had troubles writing what I originally was going to, because, when planning this whole story, I didn't have that specific idea in my head until like, four chapters in, so it didn't work well with the flow. I'll try to see if I can add it in, because I do feel like it makes sense, but I'll just fold it in later in the story (I'm working on it, don't worry). That said, I'm not. The most happy with this chapter. But it's out, and it's not that bad, so we out.
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys for reading! We're basically halfway done, and I hope y'all are enjoying at least somewhat.

Updates on the life of Reggie: good and bad news.

Good news first: Reggie figured out math!

Bad news: Reggie didn’t figure out any other subjects in school.

But that’s okay! Nearly every day after school, he would go over to Luke’s house to practice music as well as work on English homework. Mrs. Patterson being an English Professor had its perks. Sometimes. Alex helped him with what he could for history and science, but it still never fully clicked.

That being said, he still wasn’t doing poorly. At least, not by Reggie standards. His math grade was a high B, while his others ranged from low B’s to high C’s. 

It took Alex accidentally equating math to music for it to stick, however as soon as he did, it made sense. The consistency of the beats and the consistency of equations melded in his head to come together, like a perfect pie. Of math. (A pi pie.)

Regardless, Reggie was proud of himself. He looked over his report card, smiling wide, the proof of his achievements in front of him. Mrs. Patterson (or mom, she had offered, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that) was bringing him home again, but it was just the two of them; Luke had been told to stay home and finish homework.

He waved goodbye to her while she pulled away before marching into his house. It was eerily quiet, but that only helped to brighten Reggie’s mood. There was no cigarette scent in the house, meaning that the Peters likely hadn’t argued at all earlier that day.

He walked through his house, arriving in his room. Despite having lived there for four years at this point, it still didn’t feel like a home. Reggie put his backpack down near his desk before pulling out the homework that Alex was trying to help him with before Reggie had to leave.

The notebook his teacher made them take all their notes and do all their assignments stared at him, pages filled with the bare minimum amount of work that he was required to do. He’d seen the other student’s books, knew what would get excellent grades, but it never mattered. His class was currently working on the periodic table, which was nothing if not overwhelming for Reggie. There was just so much to remember, not only in how many elements there are, but also in how they affect each other, which ones combine to make what, and too many other things for Reggie to ever remember. 

To the best of his ability, Alex had tried to lay out everything for Reggie, to make it as simple and easy to understand. Even color-coded everything. The thought was nice, but it didn’t really help. Reggie always zoned out when he was explaining, so he’d ask him to explain multiple times over, which just tired them both out.

This was maintained when he tried to study at home, too. In theory, being alone should help him focus, but it just let his mind wander further. There was always something in the room to distract him, even if only the space in his head. When he was with the boys, they at least could try to force each other back on track.

Tomorrow was Friday, quiz day in class, and though the quizzes individually were pretty small, after failing several of them, this was easily the worst grade he had. 

So he sat, staring at the notebook in front of him, digesting none of it. As much as he repeated the information, he was somehow able to zone himself out, the reminder of his teacher’s droning likely being the cause. 

His room was lit by the lamp on his desk, which cast a weak light over the area, but despite being a low voltage, it somehow blinded Reggie. He wasn’t incredibly close to it, yet the need to turn it off rampaged. He didn’t, choosing instead to be distracted by it rather than try to focus on the task before him.

He ran a wandering, lone pencil over the pages, tracing over what he had already written. Someone had told him that rewriting things helped with memorization. However, all it seemed to do was fuel his irritation at the light, causing a reflection off the graphite. This hid half of his writing unless he specifically brought the book under shadows.

The light eventually got the better of him. With a frustrated groan, he turned it off, then slammed his notebook closed. He couldn’t read it in the dark anyway.

Reggie rested his elbows on the desk, head in his hands, with his palms pressing into his eyes. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was probably his fault that he couldn’t focus, that he was doing something wrong. That’s what his parents told him. His teachers had implied it.

“If you just apply yourself more.”

“Pay closer attention next time.”

“Try a little harder.”

He was used to hearing that he just wasn’t doing enough, and maybe they were right. But he didn’t know how to do better. He told himself to study and practice whatever he needed to, but nothing worked unless it was math or music. 

His report card sat to his right. Despite lying amidst a pile of other random papers, it stood out, as if his lamp were throwing a spotlight to it. Reggie spared it little more than a glance before grabbing it, crumpling it into a ball, and throwing it across the room. 

It landed in the space between his bed and his closet, near where his bass laid on the ground. Reggie looked longingly at the instrument but remained seated. His father’s voice echoed in his head, telling him that the instrument wasn’t to be played in his presence. 

But his father wasn’t here to yell at him (or anyone else, for that matter). 

He got up slowly, however, as if fighting himself. But when he reached the bass, it was as if it breathed life into the boy. He fiddled with the strings on the neck before pulling it into position across his lap.

Silently, Reggie wished that, for once, he had an amp in his house. Typically, when practicing, he and Luke had to share an older one that they had bought from saved up Christmas money. It was always nice to actually hear his instrument, rather than just pluck the strings, hearing nothing but an echo of the actual music he could make. 

Regardless, he went at it, practicing the song they had been working on. Reggie wasn’t particularly fond of, at least, he wasn’t initially, but it’s grown on him. “Crooked Teeth”, as Luke was calling it, was a reasonably playful song, based on the synth sound of the ’80s, but without the actual synth. Luke had also given him some insider information that it was based on Alex, who seemed to be the least interesting to girls. Luke had to poke fun, apparently.

The bassline was fairly simple, just a couple of repeating measures, so it wasn’t tricky for Reggie to pick up, and once he did, it was pretty much a matter of muscle memory to play.

His mind began to wander again, this time to how he wants to live in the Patterson home. Emily and Mitch were always so inviting to him, making sure he ate plenty while he was there. They insisted that he would always get the best treatment they could give him since he was a guest. Sometimes when he was over, he, Luke, and Alex would forego practicing at all, deciding to just play outside in their massive yard or go ride their bikes out in the city for some time. Reggie usually had to borrow one from Alex, who had multiple siblings. Although they were all younger, so the bike was usually a bit small for him.

His heart sunk, just a little, when he thought about it, though. The boys and their families were great, but he always felt like a slight burden to them. Emily was always giving him rides, even if just home from school. And the Mercers were, to put it short, the most well off of the group. Even being in their presence, the few times he had gone to their house, made him feel insufficient to even be friends with Alex.

The drummer insisted it was okay, that they liked him well enough, and that he was welcome whenever, but Reggie still avoided them like the plague. He could feel them judging him, and if he wanted judgment, he’d just go home.

He couldn’t really call what he had home, though. Not since Drew left. 

It had been almost three years since he’d gone, and Reggie hadn’t heard anything from him. He was hoping for a letter, maybe, or a call, or something from his brother. For some advice when he started high school, or even just an update on how his life was going. If he had gotten married, or even finished college at this point. But no update ever came.

His parents didn’t like talking about him, either. Not on his birthday, nor the anniversary of the day he left. Never. It sometimes felt like Drew was dead, or that he never existed in the first place. 

Reggie doesn’t know when he stopped playing, but suddenly he was aware of himself. His face was warm, wet.

He sits on his bed, the bass still resting on his lap. The neck still in his hand, he wipes the tears with the other before pulling lightly on the necklace he refused to take off. The tug reminded him that people support him, even if it didn’t feel like it.

It didn’t feel like it. At all. 

Reggie laid on his back, the weight of his instrument almost as heavy as the dead weight he felt like. He shucked it off onto the bed before inhaling deeply. Despite the silence of the evening and everything it entailed, he had come to expect any breath he took to give him at least some sense of cigarette smoke, but he got none of it.

He felt unsettled. Something was off, which normally he’d beg for, but it just sat with him, hanging over him like a weighted blanket. Reggie yearned for the scent, for something to drag him back to reality. 

Without realizing it, he found himself walking out towards the kitchen. Initially, he just fiddled through the drawers, lying to himself that he was just bored, looking for something to do. He almost grabbed a few rubber bands but decided against it.

With an unsuccessful trip to the fridge later, he found himself in a different drawer.

The box was staring him in the face. Telling him to take it. He knows he shouldn’t, but it’s already open, and his father won’t notice if he takes one or two. He grabs them, rolling them between his fingers, pinching to test how firm it is. He continued digging through the drawers, searching for a lighter, but failed to find anything. 

He exits the kitchen with a fist around the cigarettes, stopping before going back to his room. There was no way that he’d look through his parents’ room, even if he was most likely to find it there. He just knows that, no matter how pristine he leaves the room, his parents will find something out of order, and he really doesn’t want to feel like more of a failure than he already does. 

The living room, however, may have just what he needs. His father tends to smoke out there, be it for convenience, or because he wanted to prove something. Lo and behold, one of the tables next to the recliner in the room contained his prize. 

He rushed back to his room, opening his window enough so he knew that any smell he had would hopefully evacuate the room. With a breath, he looked over the cigarettes again. He didn’t have to. But what harm could one or two do to him? People smoked all the time, right? There’s no way that a couple would mess him up at all.

The room was still dark, no light having been turned on since the lamp, so the small fire from the lighter was attention-grabbing. Reggie almost forgot what he was doing with it until he crunched one of the cigarettes beneath his fingers. With another steadying breath, he held the end to the flame, quickly pulling away, not wanting it to burn more than necessary.

It was in that moment that Reggie realized he had no idea how this was supposed to work. For a moment, he simply held it between his fingers before pulling it up to his lips. Even then, he didn’t try to inhale anything, just let it sit there. 

When he finally did take a breath, it hit him harder than expected. He nearly doubled over in a fit of coughs, but was lucky enough to be holding the object, so it wouldn’t fall on the floor and cause any problems. 

However, after he caught his breath, he was greeted with a pleasant feeling of relaxation and alertness. He took another inhale, preparing himself this time, and while he still coughed it out, the attack was less abrasive than the first. 

Within a minute, he finished the first one, finally settling down into himself. He pondered using the second, but it was the only one he had left. He was also struck with a moment of realization that he most definitely had to brush his teeth and change his clothes immediately because there was no way his parents wouldn’t come home, smell it on him, and give him the most shit possible for it.

Once he arrived there, he looked at himself in the mirror. He thought that it might have just been the lighting, but he almost looked paler than usual. It also might have been that he hadn’t eaten anything other than the snack he fought Mrs. Patterson for giving him. Regardless of the reason, the only real color on his face was under his eyes, where he had rubbed aggressively enough to leave red splotches blooming, even thirty or so minutes later. 

Reggie brushed his teeth, using copious amounts of toothpaste to hopefully rid his breath of anything that may cause his parents suspect. Later, once back in his room, he changed out of the outfit he was wearing into some pajama pants and one of Drew’s old beat up shirts.

He looked to his desk, the cigarette lying still next to the lighter. His bass still needed to be put away, and Reggie figured that the case would likely be the best place to put whatever he was going to hide, be it the cigarette or anything else he may need. His parents literally never looked in there. 

And that’s what he did. The cigarette went in first, tucked away in a little dent that expanded from where the bass itself laid. The instrument was then placed on top of it, gently, as to not break the roll, but also, ya know, because that instrument is his baby. As quickly as he took it, the lighter went back into its place, and Reggie was back to trying to study.

The notebook still didn’t make sense, but something was now allowing him to at least register the writing on the page. The light from his lamp was no longer bothering him. He generally felt more at ease, but at the same time, more attentive and in tune. 

One of his parents arrived home, likely his father, by the slam of the door. He panicked for a second but remembered that it was unlikely either of them would come into his room unless they had something specifically to yell at him about. 

And they didn’t. There was another door slam, likely to the bedroom, but Reggie wasn’t bothered the rest of the night. 

He went to bed not long after. It was pretty easy to slip into his sheets, trying to forget the impending test of the next day. He considered smoking the other cigarette before school but was turned off by the fact that there was no way Luke and Alex wouldn’t call him out for the smell. And he really wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at by his only friends.

He lingered, though, in his thoughts, before finally drifting off to sleep. He’d kept the window open, hoping for any prevalent smell to filter out before the morning. Still, realistically, it would just mingle with the air whenever his father lit a cigarette of his own next. 

There wasn’t any arguing that night, which rubbed Reggie the wrong way. His mom was out of the house, which had happened before, but it was usually for several days and hadn’t happened since they moved.

He didn’t fear his father, exactly, but the times he remembers being alone with him weren’t comfortable. If he wasn’t ignoring Reggie, he was either being passive-aggressive or straight-up aggressive towards the boy. Sometimes he’d make comments about his mom, which always irritated him the most, but were often accurate. Reggie just didn’t like to think about it.

Maybe his father would like him more, now that he’s experienced a habit of his father’s. Perhaps he should take it up more. It might get people to think of him as more than a dumb kid. And people in bands smoked all the time. They were cool.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that I have. Never smoked. Cigarettes or otherwise, so I'm mentioning effects that I just googled it have heard about from friends. I really don't have an accurate idea of what it's like, so uh, sorry.
> 
> We meeting Bobby next chapter and you can bet your butts I'm excited as fuck for it. I love my rhythm guitarist with all my heart (but not Trevor. Fuck Trevor.)
> 
> Also hah! Anyone remember the note I put on the first chapter, about this being inspired by Reggie's comments? Yeah, well, basically this initially was him being ignored as a child, not literally everything I can think of to give this child trauma. Whatever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for underage smoking (briefly), mentions of arguing and child neglect
> 
> Please enjoy a light chapter by comparison, it's gonna be the last one for a while. 
> 
> Ya know, it occurred to me a couple of weeks back that, maybe, this would have been better as a series of one-shots, rather a single story with multiple chapters, but it's too late to change it. Though I still might once everything is published, lol. Who knows.

Reggie ran into the gym, his case in hand, nearly out of breath. Luke turned to him, arms crossed, while Alex paced a foot away. He immediately plopped the case down, pulling his bass out and throwing the strap over his shoulder. 

When he glanced up, Luke was giving him a look. Reggie flashed a sorry smile, to which Luke just rolled his eyes. 

“Dude, we have two minutes before going on. Where were you?” Alex huffed, finally standing in place.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a ride.”

“So you didn’t call one of us? You know my mom would be fine giving you one!”

“I, um,” Reggie started, eyes quickly darting to the floor, trying to think of an excuse. “A power line went out near my house. The phone’s not working.” He wasn’t lying about not having a ride but was fully about the power outage. His parents were at each other’s throats again (something about never spending any time together), and he really wasn’t keen on having anyone hear them.

“I don’t think that’s how landlines work-”

“Up next, we have Sunset Curve. You boys ready?” a teacher called from behind a desk, sounding unamused. All three boys looked over to him, then between themselves. Reggie could feel the irritation from the others without needing to look them over. Luke nodded his head, intending for the boys to go. Reggie followed behind the others, eyes glued to the floor.

It was a Saturday morning, and their high school was holding band auditions for a showcase they were doing for a local newspaper. Whoever won would get a mention in the newspaper and would perform a small set for the school. The performance was whatever, but Luke kept insisting that the newspaper article would help them out big time.

They had begun doing small performances already, like birthday parties, mostly for family friends. Sometimes they’d head out to the beach near Reggie’s house or the more crowded streets of Hollywood, going acoustic to try to get their name out, sometimes for tips. Okay. Mostly for tips because their parents weren't funding them, and instrument maintenance is expensive.

Reggie could tell that Alex was disgruntled at the drum set he had to use, which was a shared one that the school provided. Initially, he had been happy that he didn’t need to beg his parents to help him lug the drums around, but now that he was in the moment, he kept testing the kick drum and making a face of disapproval. 

Reggie lightly ran his fingertips over the strings on his bass, silently thanking his parents for making the choice that this would be his instrument. Something nice and easy enough to carry around.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked the drummer, trying to get him to talk out his feelings, even though Luke sounded hostile himself.

“It’s like a different car,” Alex sighed. “The breaks are new, and I’m not used to them, so it just doesn’t feel right.”

Reggie rolled his eyes but kept quiet. 

“You can’t even drive.” 

“You asked! I’m just trying to explain wh-”

“Sunset Curve. Are you ready?” The teacher sounded more irritated than before. Reggie looked at him, and the other two teachers with him, clearly wanting to leave, before looking back at his friends, who were refusing to look at each other.

He probably looked for a little too long before Luke signaled for them to start. Alex glanced at Reggie, who nodded while Alex counted them in and started the drumline to Beat It. Luke begged for them to play one of their songs since they had gotten better, but both Reggie and Alex agreed it might be better if they went with a song people knew and liked. And they wouldn’t have to figure out anything special with the music since the song already existed.

They got him to agree because of the guitar solo. And they said that, if they won, they’d play something Luke wrote for the big performance.

They didn’t have the means to create the distorted sound at the beginning, but it didn’t seem to bother the teachers much. Reggie launched into the bass, playing a few bars before Luke joined in with the guitar and eventually the vocals. He sounded good, though definitely different from the original—more rasp, a little heavier than probably intended. Reggie joined with some tight harmonies on “so beat it, just beat it,” as well as later on the chorus, where Alex dropped in below them.

Without mics, the differences were a little hard to hear over the instruments, but Reggie didn’t really mind, and he knew Alex didn’t. 

Luke, on the other hand, was singing his heart out. It almost hurt Reggie just hearing him, a little too much rasp than normal, and a little too aggressive on certain lines. One of them, the second “it doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right,” startled Reggie so immensely that he bounced over to Luke, in what outwardly would look like he was just hyping the singer up. He took just a second to pound Luke’s chest with a fist, silently asking if he was okay.

The guitarist nodded once, continuing to sing, but focused more intently on Reggie. They sang close to each other the rest of the chorus, fake fighting on the repeated “beat it” s before Luke smirked and pushed Reggie away. He winked as he threw himself into the guitar solo. 

Luke had always been the most forward in the group, always ready to put on a show, which often led to Reggie and Alex feeling more confident themselves when performing. However, he seemed to shine in the spotlight, where people were actually watching him. It was like he had something to prove. They had practiced the song, but Reggie had never seen his friend play as intensely as he was now.

He was thriving off of the stares of the seven other people in the room, boasting in the most genuine, heartfelt way someone could. Reggie looked to Alex, who was just as surprised by Luke’s surge of energy in how he played. Luke’s hair stuck to his forehead, the sweat causing his shirt to cling to his back. His eyes were shadowed in the poor gymnasium lighting, but the hazel somehow still managed to pop when he would glance Reggie’s way.

Reggie was enamored with him; he absolutely couldn’t take his eyes off of Luke for the rest of the song.

They finished, all out of breath but feeling good otherwise. With a “thank you” from the teachers, they exited the stage, heading back to where their cases laid. 

Alex reached them first, resting his hands on his hips while he waited for Luke and Reggie, who were content taking their sweet time. 

“That was freaking awesome, dude.” Reggie started, trying to break the silence.

“Thanks. That felt pretty good. I think we’ve got a strong chance.” Luke replied, despite not looking at Reggie. “You guys were pretty good too.” They finally made it to their cases, so the statement was to both of the boys.

There was another minute of stale silence while Reggie and Luke tucked everything away. Reggie had strategically positioned the case so that the lid was towards the others, hiding anything he might have in it. Namely, his very own pack of cigarettes that he may or may not have been milking for longer than he thought possible. Neither of them questioned it, though, so that was nice.

Alex, seemingly tired of everyone’s shit today, turned to Luke.

“You gonna tell us what’s up? Or are you just going to stay bitter at everyone except yourself?”  
Luke didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to remain knelt at his instrument, now nicely tucked and safe inside its case. 

“Sorry,” he sighed, finally. “It’s just that my mom today, when I told her about what we were doing, wasn’t nearly as excited about the idea as I was. She started telling me that I had to pay more attention in school, that that’s what will get me where I need to be in life.” Reggie felt his heart sink a little, sympathizing with his friend. “Not, as she put it, ‘this silly music thing’. I told her off. Told her that this is what I’m passionate about and that I don’t need a degree to pursue music, but being the English professor she is, she wasn’t too fond of that. It kinda blew up afterward.”

He looked up at Reggie, giving a half-smile. “I’m sorry for yelling at you for being late. I get it. And,” he turned to Alex, pointing to him. “You absolutely killed it today. Both of you.”

They readied themselves to leave when the next band started playing. Some girl group that sounded like they were trying a little too hard to mix TLC and Mariah Carey together. All three boys turned to look at them before laughing.

“If it makes you feel better,” Reggie clapped Luke’s shoulder, “if that’s what all the competition is like, I think we’ll prove your mom wrong.”

There were more people waiting in the hallways when they left, some waiting for rides to pick them up, others waiting for their chances to perform. Reggie felt, for just a brief moment, a flick of joy that he had been late. There was no way he’d have been as easy playing if he’d had to brew his fear beforehand.

When they reached the door outside, they were suddenly met with the realization that they, in fact, did not know what to do with the rest of the day, nor how they were going to get there to do it. Luke mentioned something about the beach, but they didn’t have Luke’s acoustic, and it didn’t seem like the best idea to have their electric instruments where sand also is.

And Reggie wasn’t keen on the boys going into his house to hold them.

“We could go to the boulevard? Walk around for a little bit. Maybe we’ll find some super-famous person who will make us into something big.” Alex joked.

“Sure, and maybe we’ll also find the cure to cancer. Or a dog for Reggie.”

“The dog one is possible, so that sounds like a good plan to me.”

“Even if we did find you a dog, you are not just going to take home some random stray!”

“And why not?”

“Reg, if we find a dog on the boulevard, there is an incredibly high chance that it’s going to have something. Fleas, any other pests, random sickness, probably close to dying. And they might already have an owner.”

“So what if they have an owner?”

“You get attached so easily, dude.” Alex nodded, agreeing with Luke. 

“Remember when that bird hurt its wing and fell into Luke’s yard?” Reggie nodded. “You were crushed for a week when it flew away.”

Reggie wanted to retort, say something about how he doesn’t like people leaving him, and that extends to animals, but instead found himself blessedly being cut off by an approaching figure. He was tall, with tan skin and hair that fell into his face. His eyes were kind, though guarded. He wore a black tee, skinny jeans with white suspenders hanging from them, as well as a silver necklace that had a lion’s head pendant.

“Bobby?” Reggie asked, voice cracking slightly. 

“What’s up, shrimp?” Bobby cracked a smile, lightly punching Reggie’s shoulder. Luke and Alex looked between them, confusion written all over their faces.

“Do you guys know each other?” Alex asked, gesturing between Bobby and Reggie.

The bassist answered with a “Not really?” at the same time that Bobby answered, “Yeah.” They looked at each other, Bobby giving Reggie permission to answer. 

“He’s Jess’s sister’s boyfriend. Boyfriend?” He shot a quick glance at Bobby to confirm that they were still dating. When he nodded, he looked back to his friends. “Jess’s sister’s boyfriend.” 

“Let me confirm,” Alex said. “He’s the boyfriend of the sister of your middle school ex who you haven’t talked to in years?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Okay.” 

Bobby was almost two years older than them, although just a grade above them, since he had apparently been put into school later than he should have been. He changed since Reggie saw him last, which, granted, had been about three years prior. He grew about six inches, looked like he started working out regularly. His style had changed, and his voice deepened. Dramatically. He also reeked of cigarette smoke, which Reggie wasn’t sure to be comforted or concerned by.

He didn’t know what Jess’s sister had seen in him when they started dating. But now? Reggie was all for it. His face warmed, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He settled for shoving them in his pockets, picking at the skin around his nails.

“What uh. What’re you doing here?” Reggie asked, suddenly nervous. Bobby laughed lightheartedly, though, which eased him a little bit. 

“I’d ask the same thing, but I was definitely in the room when you guys were playing earlier.” Reggie’s face reddened further. Luke crossed his arms, puffing his body out slightly. Alex had no discernible response. “You guys were good. But, you’re missing something.”

Luke, seemingly not putting together that, if Bobby was in the gym, he had definitely also auditioned, nearly spat out in response, “what would you know about our sound?”

Bobby didn’t seem to take it personally, though. He chuckled again, crossing his arms to mirror the other. “You’re right, I don’t. But, from what I heard of you guys today, you sound good. But good can be better.”

The question of what he was suggesting hung heavy between all of them, though never went said. Bobby invited them to lunch, his treat, offering to drive them there. Reggie already was growing fonder of him, if only because of the fact that he not only could drive but had a car ready to do so. (He made sure to note that it was a family car, but usually, he was the only one who drove it.)

The drive was awkward, with Bobby not knowing how to talk to any of them. Reggie took shotgun, Luke sat behind him, and Alex on the driver’s side. There really wasn’t much talking other than a short conversation about what they were going to eat.

They decided upon McDonald’s, pitying the guy who offered to pay for four meals, but also, who’s going to turn down some chicken nuggets? They settled in the seating area, children screaming and playing not twenty feet away. Luke seems to be the only one bothered by this; Alex has been numbed to younger children by being the oldest of four, and Reggie and Bobby, though never asked, both have a fondness for children they can’t particularly explain.

Once they finished, Bobby brought the topic up again. “So, you guys got potential.”

“Thanks, man, but…”

“What are you trying to do?” Alex finished Reggie’s sentence.

Bobby sat on his answer for a moment, letting himself think of how to phrase whatever he was about to say correctly.

“I want to join you guys.” If Reggie hadn’t just swallowed the sip of soda he’d just taken, he would have spit it out. Luke and Alex just stared at Bobby, waiting for an explanation that he didn’t really want to give.

“Look, the band I’m in right now is having some issues, and I don’t see it going anywhere. You guys, though. Y’all are really good. But you’re missing something. Like another guitar player, and a deeper voice.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Alex was a baritone at best, which was good for some harmonies, but he had a tendency to sing quietly unless he was singing solo. Reggie and Luke were proper tenors but with different natural vocal styles. 

“Take the song you guys did today. The singing was good, although I’d have put Reggie on more of the leads.” Luke wanted to protest but was cut off before he could. “His voice fits the song better. You’re good, but you have more of a rock sound, rather than the softer sound needed for Beat It.”

Luke pouted, receiving a kick under the table from Alex. 

“But not just stuff vocally. I mean, The guitar work was well done, but it could benefit from, ya know, another one to cover the rest of the song.”

He went on to explain that, particularly during the solo, there was just a lack of another guitar, which, from the audience, was jarring at best. Luke grumbled but agreed, along with everyone else. Reggie could tell he was putting on a show, but he subconsciously thought that he was probably still defensive from his fight with his mom.

The four ended up at Alex’s house, partially to avoid Emily, partially because if they were going to practice properly, they really needed drums. 

Turns out not only was Bobby right, he was totally on the dot about the guitar. Alex had pulled the Walkman he kept in his room down to his garage so they could try to listen to the song, and when they tried adding it, something clicked. They also took his suggestion of Reggie singing, but he ultimately decided to step back.

They didn’t really know what to do with this since they didn’t have any plans to perform the song again. But, Bobby had already proven himself somewhat useful, with a decent ear for the technical stuff. 

He had gone outside for a quick smoke break, which Reggie nearly joined him on, before remembering his present company. While he was out, the three boys tried to figure him out, eventually deciding that he would be a good addition to the group. 

When he came back, smelling stronger than Reggie’s dad after a fight, there was a pause in the thoughts of the guys. Alex opened the garage, trying for some ventilation. Bobby apologized sheepishly, and no one else acknowledged the scent again.

Luke pulled out his songbook, talking about his ideas for the music with Bobby, who seemed receptive. It was still hard for Reggie to get a read on him, though he didn’t appear to dislike anything Luke showed him, which was a good sign. 

Eventually, Alex’s siblings came out to pester him that it was time for dinner and that the rest of the group had to leave.

“One more thing, before we go,” Bobby said, rather abruptly. “I don’t know if you guys have a regular practice set up or anything, but my Lola has a garage on her property that we can use for a more permanent spot. It’s not massive, but it’s got the essentials, and Lola’s almost never home, so she won’t mind.”

Alex smiled in silent approval but was quickly ushered into his house. “We’re about to say grace, I really gotta go. Sounds great, though!” And with that, they were suddenly in Bobby’s car.

Luke was dropped off first, and it was maybe a mile later that Reggie asked where Bobby kept his lighter and pulled out the pack, which he had slipped into his jeans at Alex’s house.

“You smoke?”

“Not a lot. And the guys don’t know, and they’re not going to know. It’s just, I don’t know, coping or whatever.” 

Bobby, thankfully, didn’t ask for more details; he just opened his glove box for Reggie. He only burned through one, but it was enough for the night. He hadn’t realized that he had been on edge, about seemingly nothing, until it was done, but he felt relieved after.

They didn’t say much when he was dropped off, just a short “thank you” before closing the door, but for whatever reason, Reggie felt good around this guy. Sure, he’d known of him, but knowing him was different. And Reggie was excited to meet this guy. And he hadn’t been that truly excited since meeting Luke and Alex.

Maybe they were all meant to be a band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want,,, the boys to play Beat It. So bad. I might write a full story of just that tbh. It's been in my head all week. I don't know if I've ever listened to Beat It so much. Such a bop. Wow.
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking around and bearing with me through this whole process! I know there wasn't much Bobby, considering this chapter is named after him, but don't worry. He gets more development like, next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for: underage smoking, arguing, child blaming, potentially for an anxiety attack (it's not written as one, but be safe about it regardless)
> 
> I,,, didn't think this would come out today, gonna be honest. I barely had anything written, and homework was killing me, but I crunched this thing into existence at like, one in the morning last night, so, yay, it's here. There's a couple of references to Filipino culture from Bobby near the end, however, I am decidedly not Filipino, so it's basically pieced together from what I could google, as well as what I've heard from friends who are. If there's anything wrong, please let me know.
> 
> Fair Warning for the rest of the story: From here on out, the chapters are going to be decently heavy, with the exception of the last one, which will be a little lighter. If you ever want to stop reading, I totally get it, because, you know, it can be hard sometimes to read that. And I thank you for reading if you continue.

They didn't end up getting the interview with the newspaper. Reggie doesn't know if he'd seen Luke as frustrated after being rejected as he was that day. But by the time a week had passed, he'd gotten over it. And several months later, he'd nearly forgotten. 

The band had been booking more gigs than they thought possible a year ago. It still wasn't anything absolutely massive, but Bobby could get them into clubs that would have otherwise been out of the question, if only because of their age. Bobby definitely had a fake ID, though Reggie didn't know where he got one, nor did he want to ask. 

This was one of those nights. They had just finished playing at a smaller club on the far end of the Boulevard, not their largest, but exciting nonetheless. All four of them had started growing together, finding their sound and how they worked, and wow, did it work. Something between them clicked creatively, and their music got better exponentially.

Performing became more authentic and natural to the whole group, though Bobby sometimes wasn't nearly as involved when they performed. Still, that was to be expected; he hadn't known the others for as long. 

Though Reggie did notice that, despite asking to join their band, he still had a tendency to hang away from them. He couldn't leave, per se, because he was their ride nowadays, and all their stuff was in the Band Van (Reggie wanted to name it Britney, after Spears, but the other three ganged up against him), but he generally lingered in the opposite area of the room.

Despite this, Reggie knows it's all image. He suspects the other boys know too. Bobby makes too many comments that would hurt if not for the playful smirk he always wore when saying them. He gives too many glances of admiration when they're playing. Adds too much in the creative process. Maybe he just wants his chances of success to be as good as possible, but Reggie thinks he's secretly softer than his image would allow.

Reggie, Alex, and Luke were all hanging together, though Luke and Reggie would frequently get distracted by the much older, much prettier-than-every-girl-their-age girl who walked past. Alex, suspiciously, didn't seem to follow in their gaze, but Reggie really didn't care about that when he was surrounded by beautiful people.

It had been a couple of hours since they finished performing, but the club owner didn't mind if they stayed. He had definitely told the bartenders that they were underage because Bobby had gone up to get a beer and was laughed at before he was turned away. He sulked with the boys for a few minutes before pulling away.

Reggie spotted him hanging near the door, talking to some woman. He smirked, assuming his friend was getting up to usual Bobby antics. He liked to flirt at these events, but he was still with his girlfriend and would never actually do anything about it.

The woman he was talking to was pretty, at least from what he could see. Late 20's, maybe, long, curly black hair tied up into a ponytail. She wore clothes that looked too nice for a club like this, heels a little too high, and jewelry that looked a little too real. Bobby was also noticeably not handsy with her, something he typically became when flirting. 

Bobby was dressed in a black shirt, with red on the cuffs of the sleeves and the bottom, the same bright shade as his suspenders, which were clamped to the top of his jeans. They were navy but had been hand-bleached, with large spots which looked just shy of orange, and were cuffed to fall above a pair of well-loved burgundy Doc Martens. The jeans hugged his thighs, complementing-

"Reggie!" 

He snapped his head to look at Luke, who smiled like he knew something. "Who's got your attention?" Luke licked the inside of his cheek, Reggie's face went red. "Your eyes have that glaze over them like we're watching Star Wars, and you're wishing you were Han Solo kissing Leia."

"No one. I just," Reggie cleared his throat, looking away from Luke. "I zoned out. You know, loud places aren't my favorite thing." 

Luke smirked, looking Reggie up and down, and grabbed his shoulder. "I know you, Reg. Those are two very different looks. Is it that girl Bobby's talking to? I think he's got you beat." 

"Oh, um. Yeah, you're probably right. Though she does look a little old for me, so I don't know if it'd be. Weird." Blessedly, Bobby chose that moment to come back to the group, smiling more than he had the rest of the night. The woman was nowhere to be found, which Reggie was silently thankful for.

He clapped Luke and Reggie on the back, pulling them into a band huddle. "You guys will never believe what I just got us." He smiled again, wider, pulling a small card out of his back pocket. He held it between his two first fingers, waiting for someone to grab it. Luke decided he'd be the one to, taking the card gingerly, as if it was the most valuable thing he'd ever own. 

"Samantha Frasier, Sound Motion Entertainment." He looks up, glancing between the other three. "She's from a record agency?"

Bobby nods, frantic, biting his lip. "She didn't say anything about signing us, says it's risky. But, she said that, if we can find the money for it, she'd love to help us put together a demo. Probably couldn't be an entire album, but an EP shouldn't be too expensive. Not if we keep up with these gigs."

Both Reggie and Alex let out what can only be described as an excited whine, Luke nearly jumps out of his body. Bobby looks proud. but shoves his fingers into his pockets, thumbs still hanging out. 

"Did she tell you how much it might cost?"

"Nah, didn't have the time. She said to call her during business hours, and she'd be able to give more information."

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"What time is it?" Alex stared at Luke, the only one with a watch on them at the moment.

"Um, 12:43?"

"Shit."

"What?"

"My curfew was thirteen minutes ago."

A chill ran down Reggie's back. He knew that the Mercers were mostly cool, but they were always pretty strict about Alex's curfew. They didn't typically mind where he went, since he was usually just doing band things, and trusted that he wouldn't get into trouble. But they knew that the boys could stay up late, which they had done every time they slept over. He knew they wouldn't do anything worse than ground him, but Reggie still worried sometimes, instinctively, that he might get worse. Projecting was a bitch.

"We gotta go, I'm sorry."

"Nah," Bobby spoke softer than he had the rest of the night. "It's good, we get it. All our instruments in the car?" All three of them nodded. "Then let's jet." 

They left immediately, most definitely speeding down the road with too much confidence that they wouldn' be pulled over. Alex returned home after a seventeen minute drive, when they should have been on the road for well over thirty. Reggie had to admit that he was impressed, mostly that their old van could move fast enough with all of their instruments in the back. 

Bobby waited for a moment outside of Alex's house, watching him enter. Once he did, he turned to Luke and Reggie, asking, "you guys want to hang for a little longer?" 

"Sorry, Mom's probably worried about me." Luke shot him down. Reggie could tell that Luke still wasn't incredibly fond of Bobby, likely some ego battle that he's made up in his head. Though Bobby just laughed, seemingly not bothered.

"She doesn't know where you are tonight?"

Luke shook his head, making a face. "She doesn't like me performing anymore, especially not in clubs. Well, clubs that aren't about books. It'll influence me to, what does she say, 'make shit choices that might ruin my life.' Little does she know, she's doing that to me more than any performance will."

Reggie winces at his tone. He's cocky, sharp on the ending of his words. He wonders to himself if he managed to slip a drink or two tonight, though he doesn't know how Luke would have managed. 

They take him back, his house closer than Reggie's, but when they finally get there, Luke hesitates. Before Reggie can ask if he's okay, Luke flashes a smile at him, then flings the door open and jumps out. "See you guys!" He yelled, then slammed the door shut. Bobby looks at Reggie, sitting in the back of the van, nodding him to come forward. Reggie obliges, but not before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his bass case.

Bobby drove to Reggie's house before anything happened. It was 1:39 when they got to their destination, but Reggie didn't feel tired. He looked to his door, across the street from their parking spot, deciding to wait before going in. The lights were on, so at least one of his parents was awake and in the front room, which Reggie really didn't want to deal with at the moment.

So he sat. Bobby offered him his lighter, but Reggie turned him down. He didn't want to walk into the house smelling of anything if he would have to talk to a parent. Bobby shrugged, then lit one for himself, opening his window while he was at it. 

"You're not gonna go in?"

Reggie flushed, opening his mouth without saying anything. He settled for a quick shake of the head, without further elaboration. Bobby raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask for details; Reggie figured that was his cue to leave.

He took another minute, however, checking and double-checking that he had everything with him. It wasn't much, just his wallet, jacket, keys, and cigarettes, but he managed to extend that far past the time he should have had to gather himself. He left the van without much bravado, just waving before walking across the street. He should have looked in theory, but he told himself that it was late enough that he wouldn't have to. Reggie ignored the fact that there were several other cars parked near the beach.

With a breath, Reggie feels confidence shook through him like a bullet before he opens his door. He doesn't know where it's from, but it's there. The first time Reggie tries inserting his key, it doesn't go in, and he swears when it hits the wood of the door. Upon the second try, he gets it in.

The weather isn't cold, but Reggie's hands are shaking. He pulls the key out, holding it in his palm. It rubs against the scar from that summer, now almost five years prior, which has faded to the point that you wouldn't know it was there if you weren't told.

As soon as the door opens, he can hear yelling. Not nearly as loud as he's heard his parents get before, but still enough to startle him into a full-bodied flinch. Though he shakes it off and enters the house, slamming the door harder than he meant to. The yelling stopped, attention drawn to him.

"Why the fuck are you getting home so late?" His mom asked. Reggie's mind raced with responses, with ideas ranging from a genuine response all the way to asking why they were awake so late. He ultimately decided that it was better if he bit his tongue.

"Your mother was worried sick about you! She-"

"I'm sure she was." He whispers before realizing he said anything. Any confidence he'd held when the door was closed has since left his body. He feels all color drain from his face despite his heart pumping faster than he has any right to be comfortable with. There's a ringing in his ears, but he doesn't know if his brain is trying to censor the oncoming barrage from both parents or if it's just the blood rushing through him.

"You didn't call; you didn't let us know before leaving where you were going."

Reggie weighed his options and figured that he'd already messed up, What's more backtalk going to do? Get him kicked out of the family?

"You weren't home when I left!"

"You could have left a note." His mom's voice was cold, too quiet.

"When have you ever asked me to leave a note for you guys?"

"If you're going to be out for this long-"

"I didn't know I'd be out for this long!"

"You shouldn't have come back home at all if you were going to cause such a problem!"

"This isn't home! And I didn't start this whole thing..."

Reggie's voice petered out when the doorbell rang. 

All three of the Peters turned to look at the door, which, to Reggie's dismay, was cracked slightly. He assumes it bounced open after he slammed it. Without looking at them, he can tell that his parents are waiting for him to open the door. When he does, he's greeted with hidden concern written over Bobby's face.

"What are you doing here?" Reggie whispers, harsh. 

Bobby brushes his hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. "You uh, forgot your instrument at the studio. Figured you didn't want to leave it there over the weekend." Then, to Reggie's parents, "it's supposed to rain the rest of the weekend, and that's not great to leave electric instruments in. The studio isn't in, uh, great condition."

Before his parents can say anything, Reggie feels himself be pulled out of the door by Bobby. He makes a mental note of how strong he is but files it away for another time. The door locks behind him, causing Reggie to quickly check that his keys were still on his person. They were.

The two boys walk to the van in silence, Reggie incredibly confused as to what the situation was holding. Bobby started the car and pulled away from the street before saying anything.

"What the fuck was that?" He demanded, though not looking at Reggie.

"What do you mean?" Reggie replied, his voice suddenly nowhere to be found. Bobby slams on his brakes at a stop sign, taking the opportunity to look at his friend. "I'm not stupid, Reg. What was going on in there?"

Reggie doesn't respond, though. Figures that if Bobby's so smart, he can piece together what was happening. He leans into his hand, covering his mouth so he wouldn't accidentally say something. They drive in silence for the next few minutes until Bobby parks on the side of an empty road. Reggie doesn't know what he's going to say, but he doesn't expect to be "you're sure you don't want anything?"

He also doesn't expect to respond so quickly with, "fuck, no."

"I didn't hear everything."

"I'm sorry you heard anything. It's nothing" 

"I saw you flinch when you opened the door. Didn't look like nothing."

"All parents fight."

"Not like that, Reg."

"Luke and his mom…"

"Emily worries for Luke's future. She doesn't tell him to 'not come home if he's going to cause problems.'"

"It's not always like that."

"Reginald." Bobby stops him, turning to look at him full on. Reggie's startled...but not scared, unlike most times when his full name is used.

"What."

"How often do they fight?"

"I don't…" Reggie looks away from Bobby. He's not ready to confront this, especially not with the band member he's known the least.

"How often?" He's firm in questioning, not allowing for a non-response. Reggie swallows his pride, it feels literal, before looking back to Bobby. "Everyday, dude. It feels weird if they're not."

"Why haven't you said anything? Do the others know?" Reggie shakes his head. 

"I don't want them to know. They've only come over a handful of times when my parents aren't home. I don't really know why. Like, they wouldn't care. But it's scary, and constant, and sometimes I hide in my shower with the water running to drown out how loud they can be." His eyes well up, but he doesn't do anything about it. Embarrassment creeps up the back of his neck, causing a shiver to run down it. "Before you ask, no, they haven't done anything to me other than yell, and I haven't done shit either."

His hand laces around the charm on his necklace, thumb rubbing it. "I haven't seen my brother in years because he left after a shit fight with them, and sometimes I think 'maybe he had the right idea,' but I don't know where to go. The Mercers are great, but they have enough kids already, and the Pattersons. Well, Emily doesn't need another member of the band crashing under her roof."

Once it's all out, Reggie finishes his statement with a sigh. He feels...better, if only because the weight he's been holding onto has finally lifted. 

Bobby allows him to stop crying before responding. "I'm sorry." Reggie rolls his eyes but fights back a sad smile. "I know it doesn't make it any better, but I am. And I won't say anything to Alex or Luke if you don't want me to."

"Thanks."

"And, I don't fully get it. But, growing up with my Lola wasn't easy." Reggie looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, you know. My dad died when I was young, and my mom was grieving, so Lola took over a father figure's role. She was quite the patriarch." He chuckles, remembering being chased by her, running from the dreaded sandal in her hand.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Reggie said, not really knowing how to respond. Bobby just blew him off, though, waving his hand through the air.

"He died when I was four, so I don't remember much before that."

"Still, it can't be easy."

"Believe me," he turned, smirking. "With Lola around to tell me all about him growing up, I feel like I knew him. I can tell you more about his childhood than I think I could mine."

Reggie smiled, a real, genuine smile, then giggled. He could still feel that his eyes and cheeks were red and puffy, but that was fine. He ran his fingers through his hair. There was some gel left, but most of it had been sweated out by this time. 

"You want to crash at the studio tonight? We've got that pullout." Reggie considered, but ultimately declined, asking instead that they just drive around for an amount of time that would make sense for them to go to the studio and then return since that was the whole elaborate lie they had told. Bobby agreed without further questions, but did demand that he pay for gas, claiming that the tank would be run empty by Reggie's request, so he should have to pay for it. Reggie called it a scam.

When they returned to his house, it was almost three in the morning, and Reggie silently thanked whoever was out there that it was the weekend. The lights were off when he showed up, but, despite his parents probably being asleep, and him having the key to the front door, both boys decided to sneak him through his window. This wasn't the first time they've had to sneak him in or out, so they had it down to a science.

Reggie kept his bass in the van, knowing for a fact that he'd be right back to practice the next day. His parents wouldn't care either way if he had brought it in or not, but he felt like he needed to keep it away from them. Something tells him that they thought it was in the way. It wasn't long after that he fell asleep, exhaustion rolling over him in waves from the events of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And then Reggie wrote Home Is Where My Horse Is the next morning) (That's a lie. The next chapter starts on the next morning.)
> 
> I stand by Bobby being a protective guy to the band, and I have since my first fic in this fandom, and I will fight anyone who slanders Bobby's name. (again, though, fuck Trevor).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for: Sensory Overload, Arguing, Slight Homophobia, Slight emotional/physical abuse (there's one slap), Reggie generally feeling like shit in this one
> 
> I just want to make it clear, be careful with this one. There is a resolution at the end, but I'm gonna be honest, I damn near sent myself into a baby panic attack while writing this, because I use my own experiences to try and make these more believable. I'm fine, I calmed myself down, and I'm perfectly safe, but just know that this is meant to hurt.

Reggie doesn’t sleep well, waking up several times throughout the night, and when he was asleep, it was filled with nightmares.

One was short, his parents coming into his bedroom and trashing it. Finding not only the old pack of cigarettes he’s been using to hold the pieces he’s been stealing from his father, but also breaking his bass, smashing the silver ring that he, Luke, and Alex got together, taking the key to their house. That was where he awoke both times he had it.

The second was longer; it started out as a recount of the day before, changing once they finished playing. Instead of coming back with good news, Bobby came back to the group with silent tears, explaining that this woman went out of her way to explain to him how they would never make it in life, that they might as well quit now. She’d said a few other choice phrases, mostly alluding to the band’s closeness, but Reggie chose to block them out. They still left the club shortly after, they still dropped everyone off, but when he entered his house, Reggie found not his parents, but Luke and Alex.

They said the same as his parents but began on him otherwise. Belittling and berating him. How he wasn’t good enough for the band, especially not now that Bobby was with them. They somehow found out about his smoking, chastising him for turning into his father. Bobby eventually came in, laughing at his expense while he shoved the lit end of a cigarette into his mouth. 

Reggie awoke in a cold sweat, hyperventilating. He half expected to see smoke when he would exhale but could never seem to find a good enough breath to fuel it. His chest was warm, but not the kind he gets when Luke smiles at him, or Alex allows himself to genuinely laugh, or when Bobby even acknowledges him (he’s still surprised that he’d ever want to be friends with him). It’s the kind when his teachers get frustrated at him for not knowing the answer to a question, or when he plays the wrong part when they’re performing, and Luke gets that annoyed look in his eyes. 

It hurts. It’s tight. Like he’s on fire, and the only air he has is poorly recycled. 

A few minutes pass before he’s able to steady his breathing, but even then, he finds his breath shaky at times. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it off of his face. When he drops it, his hand brushes against his cheek, when he realizes that he was crying in his sleep.

He wipes the tear residue away with a little too much anger, drying his hand on his comforter, which is also a little damp. The clock on his wall nearly blinds him, reflecting the light of the morning into his eyes. It also tells him that it’s only been about four hours since he’d gone to bed, but still too late to go back to sleep.

Though tempted to shove a pillow back on his head and try anyway, he ends up getting up and heading for a shower. It’s in there that he takes the time to really simmer on what had happened the night before. How he not only let Bobby find out but let himself open up about it as well. At the time, it felt nice, but now, he couldn’t help the dread building up behind him that he’s somehow put Bobby in danger. His parents hid everything from the world, and now someone had broken into that, and Reggie had no idea what they could do.

He scrubbed at his hair, cleaning away the sweat that had built up over the few hours that he slept. The shower maintained its ability to block everything from the outside world from getting in, but it did nothing to stop his thoughts. Once he snapped out of them, he turned the water off but remained in the shower, feeling no inclination to get out. The shower was safe. It didn’t change. It didn’t judge him; it cleaned him and protected him.

But he had to get out eventually. He towel-dried his body, drawing it out to at least stay in the bathroom. There wasn’t any yelling outside, but the thought of confronting his parents after the night before left him feeling cold despite the steam in the room. Afterward, he made a beeline toward his room, which he thanked was relatively close since, in his haste, he had forgotten to bring clothes with him.

The band was going to rehearse, he knew that for a fact, but it would be hours before any of the other three woke up. As such, Reggie debated if he wanted to bother putting on regular clothes or just slipping into some pajamas instead. He settled on an old Star Wars shirt that had been worn down and some sweats.

The night prior, before leaving the van, he’d stashed his cigarettes back with his case, which he thanked himself for now. Realistically, his parents wouldn’t go through his room. They don’t care about anything that he’s getting himself into, not really, so they wouldn’t need to search for anything, but Reggie couldn’t shake the feeling of his dream. Couldn’t seem to drop his adrenaline.

He finally left his room, not calm, but enough to go get himself some food. The kitchen felt eerily quiet, to noise to fill the silence, nothing but the morning light shining in from outside to illuminate the room. Often, on weekends, Reggie’s mother left the house for a friend’s, so there wasn’t much arguing, but that didn’t mean the house was quiet. In the mornings, he’d turn on the news, letting it drone in the living room, with an open attachment to the kitchen. But at night, he enjoyed himself a drink or two, with a reputation following him of being a rowdy drunk.

Reggie hoped to himself that this might be the case today, if only so that there is one less person to deal with, but that didn’t seem to be the case. However, they were still in bed, which gave Reggie hope that he might be able to leave before they wake up if he got ready fast enough.

He finished readying his breakfast, some slightly stale toaster waffles, buttered them and threw one into his mouth. It was okay, but he was really focused more on devouring them as opposed to tasting anything. And devour he did. They were gone before he could realize, which left him standing in the kitchen, head still buzzing slightly, hands empty. 

Now, Reggie wasn’t as dumb as he might come off, but he also wasn’t too keen on walking all the way to the studio when the sun was already up. But, Bobby maintains being the only one who has a driver’s license, on account of being the only one of age. However, he also has the worst track record for waking up the absolute latest of the band. There was no way he was going to be awake, not after their late night last night. 

In theory, he could call Bobby later to come to pick him up from someplace once it got late enough, but Reggie didn’t have a cell phone, nor did either of his parents, so he couldn’t just borrow it from them. There were always public phones, but Reggie had forgotten his wallet in his case since he’d assumed he would be able to be picked up shortly after when he planned to wake up, namely, in the afternoon.

He decided that just heading over would be the best idea, that realistically, he’d get there at probably the same time as the rest of the band but would be decidedly more sweaty. That was fine, though. Hopefully, he’d be allowed to use the shower in the house.

However, this plan required that he bring clothes over to change into post-shower, or at least so that he wasn’t sitting in sweaty clothes. So he went back to his room, walking lighter next to his parents’ room. He knew it was silly to be sneaking around in his own home, that nothing that bad would happen, at least, nothing he hadn’t seen before. But he also never really argued back with his parents, and he shivered when thinking about how shaken-up Drew had looked the last time he’d seen him.

Reggie didn’t know what to grab, so he threw some random shirt and pant combination into his backpack. The only shoes he had were his boots, which weren’t going to be the most comfortable, but he’d have to deal. He slipped them on and grabbed his leather jacket but just looked at it.

He’d gotten it as a parting gift from Jessica, whose family moved a couple of towns away at the end of eighth grade. They ended on alright terms, but they were young, and both agreed that nothing would come out of their relationship anyway. Somehow, the jacket still fit him, and at this point, had become a necessary part of his everyday outfit. He slipped it on, despite it clashing with everything else he was wearing.

It wasn’t long before he finished packing his bag for the day; not like Reggie really needed anything other than clothes anyway. Once finished, he left his room, though he didn’t close his door to avoid any extra noise. He walked the path from his room towards the front door, feeling his pockets to make sure he had his key. He did.

But he was stopped a few feet away by his father clearing his throat. Reggie felt like a deer in headlights, and if he walked away, he might have nothing to return to. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was condescending, scratchy, but otherwise surprisingly soft for Reggie’s father. The look he was giving Reggie, on the other hand, was anything but gentle; his brows were furrowed, sitting heavy above his eyes, which looked dark in the light despite having the same light color that Reggie’s did. 

Reggie didn’t answer, just opened and closed his mouth, telling himself that was good enough. Though it clearly wasn’t, as his father somehow managed to look at him more intensely, waiting for something to be said. 

“You look like shit.” He said, responding to his own question since Reggie still made no actual attempt to himself. “But I bet that doesn’t matter, probably just going to hang out with your fucking boyfriend anyway.”

Boyfriend? He clearly meant one of Reggie’s friends, not like he ever knew their names, but that only narrowed it down to three people. Luke and Alex weren’t ever seen by his parents, so it probably wasn’t them, but that would mean, “Bobby?”

“I don’t care about his name. What even happened last night after he saved your ass? He pound it?” Reggie’s heart sank. “So, you’re gonna be like your mother and ditch your family for the weekend? That’s why your little bag is packed?”

“No, I just-” He couldn’t finish defending himself. Mostly because, yeah, he fully planned on hiding at the studio this weekend, if not asking to stay for the night until school the next day. His backpack doubled for school, so if he really needed to, he could. “Figured I’d get out of your hair?” 

“When have you ever cared about how I feel? You ever asked me about my day?” Reggie wanted to say no, he never got the chance. That he was always too busy smoking and telling him to leave, or was already in the middle of a screaming match, and he wasn’t exactly trying to bring attention to himself. He settled for shaking his head and looking down.

Despite being across the room and seated, Reggie felt like his father was breathing down the back of his neck. He wanted to leave, would be able to, if his legs didn’t feel like they would snap the moment he took a step.

“Now, what were you doing last night that was so important that you came home at such absurd hours?” 

Reggie swallowed, knowing he had no choice but to answer. He wanted to blurt out that they just went driving, but he remembered that they were supposed to be getting his bass, which he clearly didn’t have with him at the moment.

“We just...drove back to the studio. Grabbed my bass but realized it would be smarter to keep it in the van. Drove back.” He was rushing to get his words out, stumbling over them slightly. 

“How’d you get back in?” 

Reggie felt the blood drain from his face. It felt like it was pooling in his chest, his heart beating in overtime, but using all the blood for itself instead of doing its actual job. 

“What do you mean?” Reggie asked, voice hollow.

“I heard that shitty van pull up, but I never heard the door open.”

“I was quiet with it. Assumed you guys were asleep.” 

His father narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his chair. Reggie wrapped his arms around himself, still feeling his heart going crazy. It was driving his attention away from the conversation he was forced to have right now, though, so he didn’t ultimately mind. He just attempted to slow his breathing to calm it down, which didn’t work as well as he would have liked. His body shivered with the effort.

“You’d be smart to drop the attitude.”

“What attitude?” Reggie said before realizing he even thought of a response. He immediately went to cup his hand over his mouth but found his arms stuck wrapped as they had been before. He was suddenly very aware of the hair tickling his ear but could not do anything about it.

“Excuse me?” His father’s voice was cold, sharp, louder than it had been, but Reggie couldn’t tell if he’d actually raised his voice or not; he almost sounded like a filter had been placed over everything he was saying.

“I’m sorry.”

His father wasn’t violent, or at least, hadn’t ever intentionally been. He was loud and threatening but had never purposefully hurt Reggie. But he wasn’t sure now, with how his body seemed ready to blow at any given moment. 

It was the moment immediately after that his mom decided to walk out, and Reggie felt a wave of relief wash over him. His body was still tight, though, ready to flee at any opportunity. She came out, disgruntled look on her face, dark circles prominent under her eyes. Her bathrobe was tied around her body, covering the pajamas she wore underneath. She didn’t look fully awake.

“Robert, it isn’t even 8 in the morning. Why are you yelling?”

“Your ungrateful son here,” he stopped to gesture at Reggie, who could feel himself shrink under the watching eyes of both parents. “Is having some attitude issues after last night.”

Reggie doesn’t know what happened next. One second, his mom turns to him, the next his cheek is warm, and he’s stumbling back. 

“Mom?” He asks weakly. His hand has finally moved, cupping his face. His mom’s arm is slowly falling back to her side. She’s glaring daggers.

“You don’t get to disrespect your father in this house. Understand?” Reggie nods. “Especially after last night.”

He’s crying again, but doesn’t realize it until he feels a tear reach his hand. He wipes them away with a sniff, but the noise causes a scoff to arise from his father. It’s too loud, but his mind blurs it. His father says something, his mother says something. Reggie doesn’t know if they’re talking to him or each other. He can’t focus on either one of them. His vision is blurred, but while he’s still crying, he doesn’t think it’s from them. 

The collar of his jacket is rubbing at his neck, the hair is still tickling his ear. His backpack feels like it’s filled with rocks. The necklace that usually felt like a part of him felt foreign. The sunlight was blinding him. Water drops from his hair onto his cheek. 

It’s cold. His tears are warm. He wipes it off again. 

His parents are yelling, but they’re just background to a continuous beep, like the noise s vital sign monitor makes when someone flatlines. He tries talking, but nothing more than a few stuttered “I, uhs” comes out. 

He blinks as if that will fix everything.

His hair drips on his neck.

He shivers, closes his eyes tight.

“-unbelievable-”

“- a fucking disgrace-”

He clenches and unclenches his fists.

“Stop.”

“-if you think you’re-”

“-provide solely for this home-”

“I’m sorry” Reggie says, though it falls on deaf ears. His eyes are still closed tight, but the arguing seems to quiet down. 

When he opens them, he’s greeted with the sight of the beach just outside of his house. He can still hear his parents going at it, though it seems as if they’ve forgotten he was ever there. The sun burns his eyes, especially when reflected off of the water, but he feels his legs walking towards it anyway. 

He crosses the street, paying little attention to any cars that may be driving by. He thinks he hears one honk at him, but the beep is still ringing in his ears, so he isn’t really sure. Rubbing his eyes hurts, but it clears away any tears that might still be threatening, and it’s still not as bad as looking at the water.

His first step in the sand caused him to trip, nearly faceplanting. He almost laughed at the thought. Probably would have if he didn’t feel so utterly miserable. 

A few minutes of walking later, he finds a spot to stay. It’s off the beaten path, as much as one can get for a small, public beach. But most importantly, he can’t see his house at all. The first thing he does is take off the stupid jacket, removing the constant rub at his neck that he’d been feeling the entire time. 

He sits next to it, grumbling to himself about the sand that will likely infest it for the next several months. He takes a breath in, then promptly shoves his head into his hands, letting out a dry sob. There weren’t any people around when he looked before, but if they had suddenly appeared, he hoped they would just ignore him. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this like he was extra sensitive to anything and everything. Alex had told him it was sensory overload? Normally, it happened in the safety of his own home, usually, while he was trying to do something at the same time his parents were arguing. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he was sent into a spiral that really only falling asleep could help. 

No one other than Alex and Luke had seen it happen. He doesn’t really know why it did that time, but he suspects it had something to do with school earlier being incredibly frustrating, along with band practice being generally loud.

He usually could sleep it off, but that wasn’t really an option on a public beach without a towel or shade or anything else to make him comfortable. He also wasn’t feeling particularly tired.

Reggie runs a hand through his hair, which at this point has mostly dried. It’s then that he realizes that he has no idea how long he’s been out of the house. His heart still feels like it’s doing jumping jacks, and he’s shaking, but he’s able to steady his breathing slightly. 

The waves crash several yards in front of him, reminding Reggie that he’s on the beach. He looks up at it, no longer finding it especially blinding, just the regular amount if he looked at where the sun directly hit the water. 

Reggie smiles to himself. 

He runs his fingers through the dry sand, grabbing some to pinch between his fingers. The grit feels nice, grounding, but he soon drops it when he remembers that sand has a knack for finding its way under fingernails and that he doesn’t really enjoy that sensation.

His face is still red, and the side that his mother hit burns a little more than the rest of it. Bringing his hand up to it, he runs his fingertips lightly against it, wondering if it left a mark. He’d have to play it off to the band if it did, but that was a problem for a few hours down the road. 

Time passes, Reggie doesn’t know how much, but he can tell it’s been a lot, since people start gathering on the beach. He takes that as his cue to get up. 

It takes him another couple of minutes to actually get the motivation to get up, grab his jacket, shake it out of all the sand he could, decide he didn’t want to wear it, shove it in his backpack, close his backpack, put his backpack on, and finally start walking. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going since he doesn’t have the energy anymore to walk to the studio. But he begins walking up the street, refusing to look at his house as he walks past, just in case either of his parents is looking out the window to the side.

After a few minutes of walking, he realizes that he’s about a mile away from his house and is completely fine, not continuing to look at the ground. 

A car honks. It’s not unusual. Los Angeles drivers have never been incredibly patient, though, he doesn’t remember NorCal or Texas drivers being any different, so maybe all drivers are rude. He doesn’t pay much mind, shifting his backpack up by the strap. 

It honks again. Reggie ignores it again but looks the third time it honks. The noise is coming from an old black van driving inappropriately slowly on the side of the road.

“Reg!” A voice calls from inside of it. Reggie smiles when he recognizes it as Luke’s. He stops walking, allowing Bobby to pull up next to him and for Alex, who’s in the back, to open the door for him. He hops in, smiling. His heart flutters, but he recognizes it as feeling love, not fear. 

He’s suddenly aware of his state when Alex gives him a once-over, looking slightly concerned, but doesn’t say anything. He just pulls his backpack off and opens it to show him the clothes.

“Glad we caught you,” Luke says. “Would’ve been a problem if we got to your home and you weren’t there. We can’t make music without our bass player.” 

Reggie feels Alex clap him on the shoulder, shaking him as a gesture of endearment. 

“You would’ve found me eventually. Just follow the crowd of girls that would be forming, I’d be there.” Alex snorts, Luke humming in humored agreement, and Reggie can almost hear Bobby’s eye roll. 

He whispers to himself, quiet enough that even Alex can’t hear, “besides, you guys are my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sitting through that one, you guys. Really, y'all have no idea how much it means to me that you are still reading, and liking this.
> 
> Stay safe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Panic attacks, mentions of underage smoking, general yelling
> 
> I'm so sorry for being gone for so long. I had begun writing other stories which were pretty heavy, and those, combined with this, as well as trying to juggle school work and regular work ended up in me having some pretty shit mental health. So, I really needed the break, but I'm happy to be back!

Junior year was kicking Reggie’s ass. Not just him, Luke was beginning to fall further behind in everything, but Alex maintained his academic superiority out of the three. Bobby, the lucky bastard that he was, didn’t care too much about school anymore since he only had one more semester for the year before school was out of the question. 

Alex had gotten his driver’s license as well, though now it wasn’t for an age restraint that was holding him and Luke back, more so that neither of them felt like being stuck in an enclosed vehicle with parents whom they were prone to getting into arguments with was a great idea. Luke at least had his bike, though, so it wasn’t infrequent for Reggie to be picked up while the others met at the studio.

The boys said they didn’t mind coming to pick them up, mostly because it gave them an excuse to leave their houses earlier, but Reggie still couldn’t help but feel like a burden.

It was a Tuesday, and all four of them were hanging at the studio; Luke and Reggie were literally hanging upside down from the couch and the just-barely-big-enough-for-two-people chair, respectively. Alex was sitting on the floor next to Luke. Bobby was busy relacing his boots after his old ones had gotten torn. 

Reggie was currently staring over his history homework, had read over the same paragraph four times, and still barely grasped what it was asking. Not much, from what he could gather, some matching of historical dates to historical people, but half of them had the same first name, and none of them sounded right.

Luke appeared to be just as frustrated with his work, though Reggie wasn’t sure which class it was for. Alex would glance to his work, or Luke would turn his page to show Alex, which usually caused the drummer to smile, though Reggie wasn’t sure if it was because he was getting an answer right, or dramatically incorrect. Reggie’s heart tightened a little when he saw the two of them laughing together, but it was his fault for lounging further away.

He started marking off random names to random dates, figuring he’d just look over his notes later. He’d look over them now, but his backpack was just out of reach, and that was a lot of effort to get.

The sound of footsteps fell behind him, and sure enough, Bobby was soon standing a foot away, hands in his pockets. Reggie was right at the height where the new laces were shining in his face, and he couldn’t help but squint at how bright they were. 

Bobby gripped Reggie’s knee, getting his attention. He nudges his head towards the door, silently asking if Reggie wants to come outside with him. The “to smoke” is even less necessary than actually speaking, even if Bobby’s moved from regular cigarettes to mostly just weed. Reggie shook his head and went back to pretending like he knew what to put for his homework. 

He glanced to the door when Bobby closed it; they were loud, and heavy, and way too distracting for Reggie to be comfortable with. But eventually, they stopped, and he was able to properly stare blankly at his paper. 

Not a minute later, he threw the paper to the ground. Well, he really more let it fall out of his hands than toss it, but either way, it still ended up on the floor. Reggie sighed dramatically, resulting in Alex and Luke looking over at him.

“There is no way you’re done with that,” Alex commented light-heartedly. Reggie shakes his head, agreeing, and lets his arms hang down limply. His fingers brushed through the worn carpet surrounded by the various chairs, noting that it felt grimy and should probably be cleaned. Who was he kidding? They weren’t going to clean it. 

His head buzzed from the blood rush, but Reggie didn’t bother sitting up. It at least gave him an excuse as to why he might be incoherent, though it’s not like he needed one any other time. It felt kind of nice, like a high that he hadn’t had to consume anything to get.

“I’m bored,” he said, elongating the word to be four syllables longer than necessary. “And this assignment isn’t helping anything.”

“Reg, you’re always bored,” Luke laughed.

“You’re one to talk. Mr. Bouncing Everywhere Because You Have Too Much Energy For You Own Good Patterson. That’s what they call you.” Alex ruffled his hair, as he teased the brunet. 

“I do not bounce everywhere!” Both boys looked to him with varying expressions of disbelief, mostly that Luke is out of touch enough to believe his claim. They then looked to each other, falling into a fit of laughter strong enough to almost knock Reggie from his position. 

“Luke, literally yesterday, you almost broke your nose because you thought you could jump over the kick drum.”

“That doesn’t-”

“Every time you go from a standing position into a walk, you do a little hop into your step. You don’t just take a step.”

“How many times have you come to talk to us, and found the best way to do that wasn’t to call our names, but instead to try and hop over whatever furniture is in your way?”

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” Luke groaned, forcing his face down into whatever work he was doing. He wasn’t propping it on anything other than his thigh, and not long after, the pencil ripped the paper. With a sigh, he dropped both things to his side, on the couch, letting his arms fall onto his chest. Alex snorted, but left him alone otherwise.

The three of them sat in silence for a minute, letting Reggie’s brain wander. Specifically, he began wondering what was taking Bobby so long. It was unlike the guy to just leave, and he knew that his smoke breaks never took more than a few minutes. Worry began piling inside him, and his initial reaction was to try and sit up. However, it proved more difficult than expected as the core strength needed wasn’t readily available to him. Instead, he settled for rolling his legs down, hoping that he would somehow fall gracefully. He didn’t.

With a thud, his body landed on the ground. Alex asked if he was okay, to which Reggie responded that he was fine, pulling himself into a seated position. Here, he grabs his paper and pencil, as well as his backpack, and shoves the former into the latter with minimal grace. 

“Reggie,” Luke calls, putting his name to the tune of one of their songs. “Do you have binder paper I can use? Since I ripped this sheet?”

“Yeah,” Reggie throws his bag to Luke. “Here.”

Luke takes his sweet time rustling through his bag. It might just be Reggie, but he seems to be going out of his way to be as audibly destructive as possible. Even if not intentionally, it was almost bothersome. Alex commented something about his bag’s unruly state, wondering how Reggie could find anything in it, or how he kept anything together, but that was all he added.

Well, until Luke stopped shuffling through, his face looking up at Reggie, concern clearly reflected. “Reggie, what the fuck is this?” he whispered. Reggie, in his naivety, thought that he’d maybe left some food to rot at the bottom of the bag, or perhaps a pen, or cologne, or something had spilled and was now making a mess. 

“I don’t know. I can’t see it.”

Luke pulls his arm out slowly, still having consistent, firm eye contact with Reggie. Alex, mother hen that he is, glances between the two, his breath speeding up. It’s not like Luke to be confrontational, especially not to Reggie.

The bassist’s face pales when he sees what Luke pulls out. His cigarettes; crushed and forgotten beneath his binders. He’d moved them from his bass case to his backpack a few months prior, for the sake of easier access, even though he’d only touched them maybe once since then. Reggie opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he’d have them.

“Reggie?” Alex said, voice shaking. Reggie can’t imagine why he’d be freaking out so much, but he also doesn’t understand most of the anxiety which the blond feels, so it’s not that different. He just looks to Alex, still unable to explain himself.

“How long have you been doing this?” Luke asked, squashing the box in his hand. 

“A few years.” Reggie was quiet, forcing out his voice when it finally came to him. He knew they wanted to know more, but he didn’t know how much would be able to be said. 

“Years?” Luke said.

“What do you mean years?” Alex asked at the same time.

“What do you think I mean?” Reggie was already tired of this conversation. It was one he never had planned on having, for which there was a reason - this exact thing.

“You dumbass!”

“Luke, almost all of your favorite bands smoked.” That shut him up. When Reggie looked to the writer of their songs, he had obviously run out of words to say. It looked like his head was running, but it was likely too cluttered by everything he might want to say for anything coherent to come out. 

“That’s not the point!” Alex started, taking over for Luke. “How did you even get these? You’re sixteen! Does anyone know about this? These could kill you, dude! How do you have the money for these?”

“It’s not that big of a deal!” 

“Years, Reggie!”

“On and off! It’s only when I get stressed, or whatever!”

“Where have you been getting these since you were thirteen?”

“My father. I kinda picked up the habit from him.” 

Alex let out an almost-yell into his hands. “He’s just okay with that? No qualms about his youngest child smoking?”

“No, he doesn’t really know.” Reggie almost spilled that his father would probably kill him for stealing his cigarettes for so many years, though if he had his own, he likely would be proud of him. Though it would only be because he’s taking after him somehow, and, in his father’s eyes, everything he did was right. “I’ve been taking them while he’s not home, but few enough that he wouldn’t notice.”

“You can’t seriously think there are no problems here,” Alex said, exasperated.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Luke yelled.

He knew Luke didn’t mean it. Not really, at least. He was just...passionate about everything he believed. But something about the way he’d asked, and what he’d asked made Reggie start spiraling. His hands were suddenly clammy, his heart began racing, his vision blurred. The others were still talking at him, taking turns yelling at him, and it was all too much. At this time, he very much wished that he’d accepted Bobby’s offer to go outside with him. Maybe then none of this would happen.

The door to the studio creaked opened, revealing Bobby standing awkwardly, the light shining behind him. The sun was too much for Reggie, whose eyes were already beginning to water. He squinted, trying to focus on the figure in front of them. Bobby had become something of a reassuring figure, but he was too far to do anything right now. Reggie still couldn’t catch his breath.

“Everything okay?” He asked, trying to be quiet, having heard how loud Luke and Alex had gotten.

“No, it’s not!”

“Dear Reginald here has been smoking for years behind our backs!”

There was a pregnant pause as Bobby closed the doors. He stepped toward the other three, sitting down with them, right next to Reggie. One hand was placed on Reggie’s knee, the other knocked on the floor as he exhaled.

“Um, yeah?” 

“Bobby knows,” Reggie said, voice weak. “He’s the only one.”

“How long?” Alex’s words shot through the air; he sounded hurt. Bobby, saving Reggie from having to talk again so soon, answered for him. “The same day that I asked you guys if I could join the band.”

Luke exhaled, a sound like it was dredged from the deepest part of his lungs, where it had been brewing in anger for far longer than this conversation. “No offense, Bobby, you’re a great guy. But Reggie trusted you, who we’ve known for what? Two years? At most? And not your best friends - your brothers, of almost seven?”

Reggie bit his lip, eyes watering again. Being yelled at by his parents was one thing, but having it come from Luke was an experience he was wholly unprepared for. It felt more real, more grounded in pain. This was all his fault, he’d hurt Luke, betrayed his trust, betrayed Alex too. They must think shit of him now, they’re going to ask him to leave the band-

“Luke, can you quiet down, please? Lola is in the house right now, and these walls aren’t exactly thick.” Bobby’s hand squeezed Reggie’s knee again, telling him that he was definitely just trying to get them to stop yelling at him for his sake. He sniffed, wiping his eyes. 

“Fine. What else aren’t you telling us?”

Alex had caught on to the fact that Reggie was currently very distressed, and had seemingly come down from his own point of anger. He tried to quiet Luke as well, putting a hand on his shoulder, meaning to get his attention.

“Maybe we shouldn’t press this right now.”

“Oh, is he telling you shit too?”

“No? Even if he is, we’re all entitled to secrets! Maybe if we calm down, we can talk about this normally.”

“This isn’t just a secret, Alex. This is a whole part of him that he’s been hiding for years!”

“I really don’t think smoking is a ‘part of him’, Luke.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!”

Reggie doesn’t know when they’d gotten so close to each other. But there they were, inches apart from each other. He’s hit with the image of Drew and his mom fighting, and he wants to back away. The chair is still behind him, and from his current position, it feels like an unmovable object. His hearing cuts out again, but he can clearly see Alex and Luke go at it. Alex shoves Luke from the same place he had put his hand before, and when Reggie blinks, all he sees is red.

Bobby moves to separate them, to get them further from Reggie, but Luke just pushes him as well. Reggie doesn’t know if he’s seen Luke like this before; he wonders if he really hurt him that much.

“Can you guys just calm down?” Bobby tries.

“Stay out of this!” Both say, somehow in unison. Reggie would be impressed if he weren’t about to shit himself. 

Somehow he brings himself to speak, though he doesn’t remember thinking of anything to say. “My parents fight.” It’s not a lot, and it’s not nearly as loud as the other two were being, but it was enough to get their attention. Apparently, it’s the day of coming clean about everything he’d done to hide for so many years.

“Okay? My mom and I had a fight this morning.” Reggie thinks for a moment if that’s why he’s incredibly irritable, but he doesn’t press it. 

“No, like,” he has to stop to sniff again. “They fight all the time. More than they talk normally. It’s why I’ve never had you guys come over; I don’t want anyone seeing it.”

Reggie folds into himself, hiding his face in shame. It’s not his fault, and he knows it, but he can’t help the sinking feeling that tells him that the boys are going to blame him for everything. He’s heard it enough. Everything is because of him, he’s not enough. Why would they think any different?

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Dude, just because you don’t think you’re affected by arguments doesn’t mean no one else is.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Luke. I’ve seen it,” Bobby looks between Reggie and Luke. He shakes his head. “It’s a big deal.” 

Reggie appreciates him not elaborating further on his behalf. He might as well tell them, but there’s so many words, and none of them seem to be the right choice right now. Does he tell them directly what they’ve said to Reggie? Or should he try to play it off, like he’s just sensitive, and it really isn’t a problem? He settles on neither of those options.

“You remember that time, like, a year ago, when you guys were driving to come to pick me up? And I was walking on the boulevard instead of chilling at home?” Alex and Luke nod. “Well, the night before, when I’d come home, my parents yelled at me for being so late without telling them. Bobby saw, and we hung out for a little bit until I went back.”

“Okay? That seems-” Bobby cut Luke off with a glare, remembering what he’d overheard.

“The next morning, as soon as I was up, it started again. First at me, then at each other, then back at me. I ended up having to go to the beach for like, an hour, to calm myself down. That’s when I left, and you found me.”

No one wanted to talk. Luke had been told to be quiet enough that it finally stuck, and Bobby didn’t feel like it was his place to explain anything. The unofficial vote fell on Alex, who would probably best understand everything anyway, if only because of his anxiety.

“What do they…?” He doesn’t finish the question, but he doesn’t need to. Reggie sniffs, and wipes away a stray tear with his wrist.

“Mostly normal argument stuff. Work-related issues, one or the other isn’t home enough, my dad should stop smoking, that kind of thing. Sometimes they’ll fight about my brother since he hasn’t been heard from by any of us in years.” Reggie’s hand goes to his necklace. “Sometimes it’s about me. My grades, or that I’m following Drew in not being home ever. I’m only really affected anymore when they argue at me, though. When I’m the direct reason for their anger, like coming home late, or making them look a fool in front of their peers.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex breathes out. Reggie gives a sad smile in return. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” 

They all know that a sorry doesn’t fix anything, that it never will. But it feels nice for Reggie to have this off his chest. The apology helps, if even only by bandaging slightly. Silence falls over them again, but it’s more like a blanket than anything else. It’s comfortable. 

It does drag on, though, and if there’s one thing that Sunset Curve isn’t, it’s quiet. Bobby’s the first to speak, offering up the opportunity to sleep here regularly if necessary. He’s asked before, and every time Reggie’s declined, this time is no different.

“My mom is out for the week, so it’s just my father and me. Life isn’t too bad when there’s only one of them.” He neglects to mention that his father often finds ways to demean him anyway. It doesn’t seem like it fits the narrative he’s trying to spin.

All three boys agree, though hesitantly. Luke asks if he wants to stay over for just the night, but again, is declined. 

“I had a question,” Alex says quietly.

“Shoot.”

“You said you picked up smoking from your father, right?” He waits for Reggie to nod before continuing. “What happened for you to turn to it?”

“Oh, uh, my father only smokes after big arguments with mom. Which, yeah, is often, but it calms him down more than drinking does.” 

“Did they-”

“They weren’t home the first time I tried it. Really. I was studying, and it was freaking me out. I couldn’t focus, and got really fucking frustrated. I’d gone to look for things to do instead, and found them in a drawer. It helped, and so I just kept them for if I needed them again.”

Alex nodded, that kind where his neck moves more than it usually would, like he was really intensely thinking. Which, knowing Alex, he probably was. 

“You know, if you need to talk, or someone vent to, we’re always open.”

“Yeah,” He smiles. “But it’s kind of hard to call when I don’t have a cell phone, and the only landline is in the middle of the house. I can’t really bitch about people who are like, a room away.” Alex laughs. It’s a little forced, but Reggie can tell that it’s genuine. 

“Band circle?” Reggie’s smile grows wider, and he nods enthusiastically. Band circles are always full of ideas and good feelings. They’re warm, and loving, and perfect. Alex gathers the other two, and they all stand up, huddling together. 

“Okay,” Alex starts, “from now on, we’re doing weekly check-ups. I don’t care if you think everything is fine, we’re talking. We can’t have this again.” They all agree, nodding, though Luke mumbles a little. He’s only ever been good at opening up in song form, not using normal people methods of communicating. 

“Now, what are we doing for practice?”

“Oh, I have a song I’ve been working on.”

“Great, Reggie. What’s it called?”

“Texas Summers.” He was met with groans from Luke, and giggles from Bobby and Alex. “The title is still a work in progress, though.”

“Reggie, I love you, but we are not doing a country song.”

“Why not? We can make it fun!”

“It’s not our sound!”

“It can be! And tons of artists experiment with sound!”

“Like who?” 

“The Beatles. In the 70s. Their whole psychedelic thing.”

“Reggie, I don’t know how to tell you this. But that’s because they were on psychedelics.”

“Your point?” 

“There is no country equivalent to that.”

“Actually, moonshine is quite specific to the midwest, so that could qualify.”

“Not helping, Bobby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you guys!
> 
> (If y'all hated Reggie's parents in the last chapter, hoo boy, get ready for the next one. ;) )

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love literally any feedback you may want to give, so feel free to lash out on anything you might see.


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